I work somewhere that has a pool and was wondering if anyone can answer some questions I have.
So we have a lot of kids coming to our pool and over the last year I’ve been working here we’ve had so so many people telling us that after using our pool their kids or the parents are having rashes/hives/sore throat/trouble breathing, etc after using our pool.
I’ve seen chlorine rashes are a thing that can happen when people have sensitive skin. But if these people have never had a reaction to it before and this is the first time they’ve seen this, is this an us problem?
I have a genuine concern bc some of the rashes I’ve seen are crazy looking and I feel bad for all the kiddos.
All our chlorine levels are apparently correct for what the health requirements need. The machine we use self regulates chlorine levels and we test the water twice a day to make sure it’s good.
Normal or is something maybe going wrong somewhere?

Hi! I am a 20 y/o female and two days ago I got a sore throat but just thought it was allergies. Yesterday I had a fever for a few hours before it went away. Now I woke up today with no sore throat or fever, am I contagious to others? I called out of work yesterday but I have to be back in on Monday and I wanted to know if I was at risk of getting others sick. Thank you!
Also I took a COVID test and it came up negative.

i’ve talked to a couple doctors and no one is helping me identify what are on my fingers. i got sick around 4/13/24 and i was sick for a good two weeks - the longest i have ever been sick for. it started with a sore throat, then body aches, cough, sinus congestion and a runny nose/mucus with a dry cough for the last week. i thought my nose would never get better. i recovered but had these tiny bumps pop up on the joints of my fingers, mainly the middle and last ones near the fingertip, usually always on the sides of my fingers. they developed around 4/18/24 a few days into being sick and are still present but look much different now. they started off as small skin colored bumps and were in multiples of about 2 to 4. and now they seem to be growing outwards in a circular pattern, like a ring and leave behind a flat center. they also get harder and darker in color as they progress/heal. but then new ones will emerge right next to the old ones. they look very different in the photos than they did when they first appeared. they are now red and calloused/peeling and all the bumps have joined to form collective masses. i have never had any skin conditions/issues. sometimes they are itchy but for the most part they are painless. i have no idea what i was sick with, i got tested for flu and it came back negative and i tested negative for covid at home at the time. the doctor i spoke to is hell bent on thinking that they are because of my low weight and poor immune system as a result. i am a female, 29 years old, 93 pounds, 5’3” and have always been on the smaller side. the most i have ever weighed is 111 at 18/19 years old.
photo links: https://ibb.co/KGZvWMq https://ibb.co/rMPfBRk https://ibb.co/0GycZcx https://ibb.co/h7ydccD https://ibb.co/grvYQ9F https://ibb.co/0MS4mH8

I have decided to order the 10 test panel with early hiv detection from stdcheck.com. 27 year old heterosexual male 2 risky encounters first was exactly 6 weeks ago 2nd was 4 weeks. 1st encounter slept with chick from dating app received oral without condom, had vaginally intercourse with condom. 2nd chick from a nightclub a few strokes without condom then finished with. Yes I know very stupid. Don't know either's health history although they both verbally said they get tested and are good. Still can't trust anyone these days. No symptoms in the penis area such as burning or bumps, but have a sore throat and a few coughs now. Went to primary doc they said it appears I have spring allergies. But I want to make sure so I'm going through with the stdcheck.com test panel. Will be taking Tuesday and hopefully everything goes well. Never taking my health for granted again if I make it out of this clean

Location: Defense Line Husky, Datsot-3

POV: Motsotaer, Malgeir Federation Planetary Defense Force (Rank: Pack Member)
The shrieking whistle of incoming artillery shell was among the most terrifying noises known to living beings.
Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew. Boom. Boom. Boom.
But it meant you were still alive.
Pack Member Motsotaer wondered if the poor pups in the forward trenches heard them coming as the enemy high explosive pounded into their lines.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
One of their anti-aircraft concrete bunkers took a direct hit; its roof collapsed on itself with a loud crumble.
Grass Eater artillery was voluminous, destructive, but scariest of all, it was incredibly precise. Their intelligence assets in orbit knew all, saw all. Their kill chains were short. Once they saw you, they would call it in, and the remainder of your life was measured in minutes and seconds.
There was nothing vegetarian about the efficient and bloodthirsty way the long-eared Grass Eaters fought, and the numerous intelligent predator species they’d exterminated on their way to Datsot… some of those tales gave even Motsotaer nightmares.
The defenders of Datsot had no choice. No choice but to defend their homes against the psychotic enemies pounding their lines to bits. And the ones who remained had learned the hard lessons of war, either through experience earned by blood or via the process of not-so-natural selection.
Motsotaer clutched his rifle against his chest as he laid in his own shallow hole, eyes closed. If the end was going to come for him, there was nothing else he could do but huddle in his freshly-dug grave.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The blasts continued walking across the defense lines, undoubtedly killing scores of his comrades. But he accompanied each shockwave with a sigh of relief; they let him know that he was still alive. Still breathing.
One final rumble. And then there was silence across the battlefield.
Motsotaer waited a minute before he peeked out — another lesson that smart defenders of Datsot had discovered the hard way. A couple brave medics were already on the move, their shouts left and right, pulling bodies and the groaning injured alike out of the rubble aftermath of the shelling.
With a grunt, he pulled himself out of his hole, rushing towards the neighboring anti-air bunker. The concrete roof had collapsed, but he could still hear cries from the dark. He squeezed through the cluttered entrance.
It was a mess on the inside. The lights were all gone. Scattered sandbags. It smelled like blood and death, and he pushed aside the still body of a Head Pack Leader he only knew of, only to find the corpse of yet another Pack Member, her limbs sprawled in an unnatural position.
“Anyone still alive in here?” he asked in the dark as his eyes adjusted. “Hello?”
There were a series of loud coughs. “I’m here. I’m here.”
“Pack Leader Nidvid!” he shouted as he recognized the familiar shrill voice. “Keep talking! Where are you?”
“Here. I’m here. Help me up.”
As she continued to cough, he had the sense to fish a flashlight out of his pocket, fumbling around until he found the on button. As the light activated, he could see Nidvid half-buried in the dirt, her lower limbs trapped beneath some sand from the broken sandbags.
“Pack Leader!” He got onto his front paws and started digging. “Are you injured?”
“I don’t think so,” she shook her head in the dim lighting as she experimentally wriggled her legs. “Here, I think I’m loose. Help me up.”
Motsotaer grasped her under her arms, and with a heavy grunt, pulled her out of the dirt.
“Whew,” she said, checking her body again for wounds. Nidvid looked around at the other bodies splayed in the bunker. “Oh no… Head Pack Leader…”
“That was a close one. I can’t believe you lived through that!”
“Yeah, me neither… Wait a second,” Nidvid said as she began rummaging through a pile of rubble near the Head Pack Leader’s body. “The radio…”
“What are you looking for?” he asked as he aimed his flashlight towards where she was looking.
“Oh no, no, no…” her voice trailed off as she picked up the device she’d been looking for. “Our hardline communicator…” It was clearly broken from the strike, its shell perforated with a hundred holes and its connection to the landline severed. In disgust, Nidvid threw it back to the ground.
“What uh— what did you need that for?” Motsotaer asked. “Were we supposed to tell them we were being attacked?”
“No… It was— before the strike, we got a high priority order.”
“A high priority order?”
Nidvid recalled, “There’s a special platoon in our salient… We were supposed to get an important message to them!”
“Special platoon?” Motsotaer asked. “Are you okay, Nidvid?”
“Yes, yes,” the Pack leader replied, visibly distraught. “They only had a physical line to us because they’re supposed to be keeping in the dark. Emissions control or something like that so they can activate the flying machine swarm in time. They said this was life and death and our whole defense line hinges on it!”
“Emissions control? Flying machines? Pack Leader, we should get you to a medic,” he said skeptically.
“No! Motsotaer, this is important. We need to get the message to them now. They’re only a couple kilometers south from our position. If we run over to their position now, it might not yet be—”
He looked up at her face in alarm. “Run to another position? Outside the trench line?”
“Yes! We have to go!” she said, as she peeked out of the concrete bunker towards the barren zone ahead of the trenches. “Now! Before they start their offensive.”
Motsotaer began to protest, “But that’s no creature’s land. If we get spotted by their troops, we’ll be hunted down by the Grass Eaters ships in orbit…”
She was insistent, “Pack Member Motsotaer, get it together. We still have a job to do. Are you with me or are you going to sit here and die like a coward to the long-ears?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, straightening up. Death or not, he was no coward. “I mean… I’m with you.”
“Good. Then let’s go.”
With a grunt, she leapt out of the trenches and jogged south, keeping to the defensive side of it for the modicum of cover it provided, and Motsotaer quickly followed. As they sprinted away from the tattered defenses, they ran into a thick tree line that hopefully provided them with some concealment from the Grass Eater ships above.
After a couple more minutes of running in the forest, Motsotaer started to tire and pant. He weighed his burning lung and how embarrassed he’d be if he complained. Luckily for his ego, Nidvid gestured for them to stop after another minute and tossed him her canteen. “Take a break before we get going.”
He chugged as much water as he could in a single swig, and returned the canteen to Nidvid. He gasped out, “How much further, Pack Leader?”
“About one more kilometer south,” she said, aiming her snout up at the treetops. “I recognize the smell of this area.”
“What’s this even about? The message… what was it?”
Nidvid exercised her limbs. “That Grass Eater artillery strike… it was to prepare for their offensive on our lines. They’ve gathered an armored division on the other side of that,” she pointed out into the barren fields beyond the trees. “We have an hour at most before they roll over us.”
“An armored division?!” Motsotaer squeaked. The enemy’s Longclaws — their armored vehicles — were legendary. They could kill from kilometers away. And their thick shells protected them against all but the most powerful artillery in the Federation’s arsenal. He’d never seen one of them personally. If he had, he suspected he wouldn’t be alive to tell anyone about it. “What can we do against a Grass Eater armored division?”
“That’s why we have to get to the special platoon,” Nidvid replied. She pointed in the southern direction, “You ready? Let’s go.”
They galloped for a few more minutes. Motsotaer’s limbs tired and his breaths shallowed as his lung burnt. As he was contemplating whether to ask for another break, Nidvid pointed at a shape in the distance. “There, that’s their position!”
He squinted at it. It was not easy to see, but buried in the tree line was what looked like a bunch of out-of-place branches and leaves over a small vehicle. Buoyed by the anticipation of the end of the marathon, he managed to keep up with Nidvid’s pace.
As they approached, there was a loud shout.
“Hi-yah! Stop!”
They halted their steps and looked for the source of the voice.
“Not one more paw step, deserter! This is a restricted area! Turn around or you’ll be shot!”
Motsotaer looked up at the voice hidden up in the branches. After a moment, with some help from his nose, he found the yeller. It was a short, stout middle-aged male with strange-looking green and brown paint smeared all over his fur and face. He had a rifle aimed squarely at the duo.
“Don’t shoot!” Nidvid yelled back. “We’re runners. We’ve got an important message! For your platoon commander.”
The male in the tree looked suspiciously at them as he leapt down. He lowered his rifle, but didn’t seem any less on guard. “A message?”
“Yes, we’ve got an urgent message for Special Platoon Commander Graunsa. Take us to him right now!”
He sized the two of them up. After a moment, he said slowly, “I am Graunsa. Why are you here, and what is the message?”
Nidvid recovered some of her breath and explained, “The Grass Eaters hit us hard with an artillery strike. Our Head Pack Leader is dead. Our landline is gone. We ran all the way over from our lines north of you.”
Graunsa nodded and gestured for her to continue.
“The Grass Eater armored offensive is about to start. They’re moving into position and ready to go, and there’s a special message embedded—”
“Wait a second,” Graunsa interrupted. “Give me the special message exactly, without omission or your own interpretations.”
“Yes, Platoon Commander,” Nidvid nodded. “The message is: bunny water carriers are in play, red-five-zero-eight; come out of the dark and introduce yourself. Authorization is three-three-greyhound.”
Graunsa looked thoughtful for a moment as he pondered it.
“What does the message mean?” Motsotaer whispered at Nidvid.
“I have no idea,” she shrugged, whispering back. “The Head Pack Leader just told me to memorize it.”
The platoon commander seemed to have made up his mind. “Alright, that seems legitimate. Thanks for the message.” He turned around to leave.
Motsotaer shouted behind him, “Wait, what are we supposed to do now?”
Graunsa turned around. “I don’t know. I’m not your commanding officer.” He paused for a moment. “I wouldn’t recommend going back to your lines though. Might not be there when you get back…”
“What?!”
“You can’t just leave us! Where else are we supposed to go?” Nidvid asked.
Graunsa seemed to contemplate the question for a few heartbeats and sighed, “You said you’re from the position up north?”
“Yup,” they replied in unison.
“And you’re a spotter, Pack Member?” he asked, looking at the rank and position patch on Motsotaer’s chest.
“Yes.”
Graunsa relented. “Fine. We might find a use for you. Get into the bunker… before the Grass Eaters in orbit see us dawdling out here.”
“What? Where?”
The officer pointed at a patch of dark green leaves on the forest floor. As they approached it, he grasped a latch and lifted it to reveal a ladder. The three of them descended into the darkness and Graunsa secured it behind them. With a quiet swoosh, a lamp mounted on the wall lit up to reveal a small hallway leading to a heavy-looking door.
Graunsa knocked on it twice. He turned around and looked at Motsotaer and Nidvid. “What you’re about to see in here is of the highest secrecy level of the Malgeir Federation. If you tell anyone what you see in here, you will be executed for treason. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Platoon Commander.”
“Swear it, on your honor.”
“We swear,” they replied in unison, their voices infused with growing excitement.
“Good enough for me.”
The heavy steel door swung open, showing a room that was vastly different from what its primitive exterior suggested. It resembled a command center far more than a field base, and Motsotaer felt a blast of cold air conditioning in his face as he passed the door threshold.
At the front, a main screen showed a map of the defensive lines in the sector. Facing it, two rows of sleek, new computer screens lit up the dark. Their operators worked busily at their controls, and only a couple faces looked their way in mild interest as they entered.
“What is this—” Motsotaer started to ask. Nidvid grasped his shoulder and shushed him.
Graunsa cleared his throat. Several faces looked towards him in anticipation. “Platoon, we just got the message. Activate the FTL handshake and authenticate us in the network.”
“Yes, sir.” A young-looking communication officer near the front operated a few controls on her console. “I’ve got the advisors on the line.”
Motsotaer read his nametag: Gassin. She was a Gamma Leader, much higher ranked than he, but she looked not a day over twenty. He noted that many of the people in the room sported high-ranking insignias despite their apparent youth.
“On screen,” Graunsa ordered.
A communication window appeared on the main screen, streaming video of someone in a jet-black EVA suit.
Motsotaer stiffened. It was obvious that the subject was alien; at around 1.7 or 1.8 meters, it was far too tall for being a Malgeir. Too small for a Granti. And from the side profile of the suit, it didn’t bulge nearly enough for the tails that the Malgeir’s Schpriss neighbors were known for. A strange new species of aliens.
From the blackened visor, it was obvious that whoever that was… it was the reason for all this tight secrecy.
“Special Platoon Commander Graunsa,” it transmitted in perfect Malgeirish. The alien was either a trained-from-birth Federation Channel One newscaster with a perfectly inoffensive accent, or its translator was far better than anything the Malgeir themselves had invented. “This call is encrypted, but the enemy Znosians in orbit are trying to find your location from the signals, so we’ll have to make it as quick as we can. Have your defensive lines completed your preparations?”
Graunsa stepped up to address the screen directly, “Yes, advisor. Our fire support platoon is ready for tasking.”
“Excellent. Transmitting the first batch of targets in your sector now.”
A series of symbols scrolled onto the screen, showing a number of coordinates.
“We’re getting the enemy positions now,” Gassin exclaimed.
Graunsa turned to her and nodded his appreciation, “Sixteen armored targets. Weapons free.”
“Yes, sir. Programming the sequence.”
A camera on the main screen activated, remotely showing a small hole with some machinery in it dug a few hundred meters away just at the edge of the tree line.
“Launching flying machine swarm!”
As Motsotaer watched, a thicket of metal erupted from the hole in a blur, roaring into the sky.
The main screen was replaced by a four-by-four of windows of black and white images. It took him a couple seconds to realize that he was looking at the battlefield from above. The Malgeir had rotary wing, airplanes, and jet — some were even armed, but they were usually much bigger. And their air assets had been grounded since the early days of the battle for Datsot when the enemy took the orbits.
Not these tiny devices though.
He focused on one of the sixteen windows.
The ground sped past below the camera’s vision, tree line after tree line, the flying machine seemed to know where it was going by itself: Motsotaer looked at the other occupants in the room. None of them seemed to be directly controlling it.
He stiffened.
Is this controlled by a thinking machine?
“We’re getting in range of the target coordinates, Platoon Commander,” Gassin updated the room a few minutes later.
As if on cue, the flying machines flew higher, and the trees on the ground grew smaller, as if further away. Until…
“Targets identified!” Gassin reported with excitement in her voice.
As an infantry spotter, Motsotaer had been trained — barely — to identify enemy armored vehicles. As in, he’d been given a cheatsheet containing the silhouettes of the different types of vehicles the enemy drove. But even he couldn’t tell at this distance what the white-hot smudges on the screen were.
The machine had no such issues though.
Several red boxes materialized on the screen, clearly marking several enemy vehicles in the thermal imagery and adorning them with detailed information.
The one Motsotaer was watching said:
Hostile vehicle, Longclaw MK4 (top armor: ~25mm), 4.2 km.
No hostile EW detected.
Without additional prompting, the flying machines raced in towards their targets, each recognizing a different one as its final destination. Afraid to blink, Motsotaer stared intently at one of the video streams.
A new line of text appeared at the top of the screen:
ETA 20 seconds.
It counted down the seconds, number by number.
The enemy Longclaw got larger and larger until… the screen went black, replaced by static. As he looked around, the other windows were similarly replaced with static one-by-one.
Motsotaer frowned, wondering where the videos had gone.
Then, it hit him. The flying machines were on one-way trips.
The sixteen windows disappeared, and another one appeared, showing the enemy assembly area from a much higher perspective. And instead of the vehicles he expected, he counted sixteen burning wrecks, the black smoke from their flames reaching up into the sky in columns.
“Targets destroyed, Commander,” Gassin said. Several of the officers in the room looked at each other excitedly, but their celebration was muted.
Graunsa nodded. “Call our advisors again.”
The alien appeared on the screen again. “Excellent work, Platoon Commander. We’re assessing the lines and getting the second batch of targets to you now.”
“Understood.”
As the new target coordinates scrolled onto the main screen, Gassin didn’t need additional prompting, “Launching flying machines!”
Another sixteen of them flashed out from the pre-dug position. Another sixteen windows appeared on the screen, replacing the odd-looking aliens’ video.
“Wait a minute,” the aliens’ voice cut into the quiet hum of the control room’s operation. “Switch back to the high-altitude drone. Something’s happening.”
The main screen’s image was replaced by the previous camera looking down at enemy lines. There was a flurry of activity in the enemy base area. Numerous dots representing the ground troops moved to-and-fro. And worryingly, the red squares that surrounded enemy armor began appearing en masse as enemy Longclaws drove out of their covered positions into the open.
Dozens of them.
Then, hundreds. And more appeared every second.
“What’s going on?” Graunsa asked, his voice reflecting Motsotaer’s worry.
The alien took a minute to get back to him, its black helmeted face filling up the screen again. “They’re attacking. They don’t know what hit them in the last strike. But they must have realized that they’re not safe in their assembly area, and they’re doing the only thing they can… We estimate they’ll get to your first lines in thirty minutes.”
“Can we stop them?” Graunsa asked. “We can—”
The alien looked directly into the video. “Not sixteen drones at a time. And if you launch the whole swarm at once, it’ll reflect enough signal for them to sniff out where you are with their counter-battery radars and take you out from orbit.”
Graunsa swallowed. “That’s— that’s— The machines can fly themselves without us, right?”
The alien didn’t say anything for a few heartbeats. “Theoretically, yes. But even if you evacuate your position now, your people won’t get out of range from the orbital strike they’ll call in.”
“I understand. Feed us the enemy targets.”
“Delta Leader, we can’t ask you to—”
“I said, feed us the enemy targets,” Graunsa insisted.
Quietly, hundreds of coordinate pairs filed onto the main screen. Graunsa looked at the faces of the young officers under his command. Dozens of them. He turned around to look at his two guests. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s the right choice,” Nidvid replied, shrugging.
Motsotaer nodded at him.
“I know,” Graunsa said, turning back to the main screen. “Just doesn’t make it any easier.”
“Sir, we’re ready to launch,” Gassin reported.
“Weapons free. Release everything.”
“Yes, sir.”
The ground shook and rumbled, hundreds of flying machines leaving their canisters for the sky. They were close enough to hear the outgoing buzzing as the munitions launched. This time, more and more windows filled up the screen with the visuals of the outgoing flying machines — hundreds of them, and Motsotaer was surprised that the computers could even handle it all.
The visage of the alien returned to their screen. It said calmly, “Enemy orbital launch spotted. Multiple launches. High yield. Missiles incoming to your location, ETA twelve minutes.”
“Understood, advisor.”
POV: Slurskoch, Znosian Dominion Marines (Rank: Five Whiskers)
“Scramble! Scramble! Scramble!”
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.
“What’s going on?” Longclaw Commander Slurskoch sat up in his turret cupola as the sirens rang loud through the hull.
“We’re under artillery attack!” his Controller yelled back at him through the roaring startup sequence of the turbine anti-grav engines. “The Lesser Predators… they’ve got some kind of new weapon! Took out a whole battalion’s worth of Longclaws in the 194!”
“But we’re not ready!” his Driver complained. “Our artillery is supposed to pound them for another hour before we—”
Slurskoch shook his head as he checked the friendly force tracker on his screen. “Doesn’t matter! If they’ve got some new weapon, we can’t sit still while we get pounded to bits by whatever they have. We gotta get out there. Hurry it up!”
It took them another two minutes to fully warm up the engines, and with a roar, the Longclaw burst out of its camouflaged emplacement, kicking up a curtain of dirt in front of it.
“Let’s go! Go! Go!” Slurskoch yelled as his lagging Longclaw joined the armored formation already on the move.
The Controller spoke with one of her ears in the radio, “Their artillery just launched… something at us. We’ve pinpointed their location, and orbital support is on its way.”
His Gunner whooped twice, and Slurskoch nodded silently in agreement. That’d flatten those carnivorous abominations where they stood. He drew a few symbols and circles on the digital battlemap as the Longclaws drove toward the enemy lines. “Gunner, watch those potential trench lines in front of us,” he instructed. “Their anti-armor may not look scary on paper, but their infantry can always get a lucky hit in.”
Slurskoch was taught in training that it was better to overestimate the enemy than underestimate them. Luckily, the predators usually fell below expectations, which was why the Dominion controlled the orbits of Datsot now and not them.
His Controller frowned at something in her radio, “They’re saying something about the enemy artillery… The engineers at the base assessed the strike aftermath. There’s something strange in the rubble. The attack was more precise than anything we’d ever seen.”
“What does that mean?” Slurskoch asked in confusion.
“The sensor officer in charge of the assembly area has taken full responsibility. They didn’t see the incoming at all. Higher ups are speculating that the Lesser Predators have a new weapon in their arsenal.”
“The predators made new weapons?” Slurskoch snorted. “Useful ones? That’ll be a first. Well, whatever it is, maybe our Design Bureau will get a good look at it when we finally cleanse this planet of their filth. Make our next battle a little easier when we have to take their home planet.”
His Gunner agreed, “And then, the Prophecy shall be fulfilled.”
A few kilometers into the charge across the open, the Gunner remarked with one eye on her targeting computer, “Looks like even the local winged predators know that there’s about to be a slaughter here.”
The Driver, in his open hatch, looked up at the cloud of them flying over the enemy lines. “Looks like it. A nice juicy feast for them in the coming battle. The irony of the barbaric carnivores being eaten by themselves.”
A few thousand years ago, winged predators would have curdled the blood of any natural-born Znosian. On the original plains of Znos, they were one of the most dangerous threats a lone Znosian faced. Now, that fear had been completely bred out of the gene pool, replaced with contempt for predatory primitivism, the courage to face them in battle, and the drive to exterminate them all.
Curious, Slurskoch stared up into the cloud of winged predators with his Longclaw commander optics. He frowned.
One of them shimmered.
Shimmered.
He zoomed in.
Then, he saw a metallic glint. His whiskers tightened.
“That’s— those aren’t winged predators,” he barely made out in shock. “Incoming!”
“Huh?” his Driver asked, craning his head up to look at the dark shapes in the distance.
“Get inside! Secure the hatch!” Slurskoch shouted at him.
His Driver was not very good at thinking on his own, but he had been bred to follow direct orders without question. He ducked into his seat, quickly securing the hatch above him close with trained claws.
He barely secured the Longclaw as other commanders began yelling out similar instructions on their radios.
“Incoming!” his Controller advised, about ten seconds later than necessary. “Enemy… artillery?!”
“Gunner!” Slurskoch gestured in the general direction of the sky.
“I can’t get a shot on them. They’re too high up!” she screamed back at him.
A trio of air defense vehicles next to him opened up with their six barrels towards the sky, lines of bright tracers stabbing out at the dark swarm. He saw one of the… flying machines hit and fall out of the sky. Then another.
It wasn’t enough.
As Slurskoch’s optics tracked the incoming, he saw them dive. They were fast, and they flew erratic patterns, almost organically, like actual winged beasts. If he hadn’t had that specific fear bred out of his bloodline hundreds of years ago, he would have been frozen in shock. Instead, he yelled out, “Brace! Brace!”
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The world exploded around his Longclaw.
Through his friendly force tracker, Slurskoch watched an entire battalion disappear off the map on his right flank, and two Longclaws in his line of sight brewed up in massive fireballs, throwing their turrets into the sky as their plasma ammunition detonated. One of the anti-air vehicles brewed up next to his, splattering its parts against his hull.
His Driver drove for all he was worth, ducking and weaving in the open field. So did the other Longclaws. Some deployed curtains of smoke in front of them in desperation.
None of it seemed to help.
The shockwaves hit his Longclaw in quick succession, knocking him around the armored cabin and rattling his teeth.
Boom. Boom.
More Longclaws exploded. Many more. They were disappearing off his screen faster than the software could update the signals. He closed his eyes waiting for the end.
It didn’t come.
It was hard for Slurskoch to tell when the last Longclaw near them was hit. His hearing organs must have been damaged some time during the attack. His auditory senses ringed as they returned to normal, recovering when his Controller shook him with a paw on his shoulder. “—Five Whiskers! Five Whiskers!”
“What is it?” he snapped, keeping the quivering out of his voice.
“We’re alone in our company, and I can’t contact the six whiskers! And I’ve been trying to reach battalion without success!”
“Try the regiment commander!” he yelled out against the noise of the anti-grav engine.
“Can’t reach them either!”
“What about division headquarters?!”
“I think division’s gone, sir!”
“What?!”
“Nobody there has been responding. All I’ve got is a seven whiskers in the reserve infantry division behind us! They’re saying they see black smoke in the direction of our division field command!”
“What in the Prophecy? How is that possible?!”
“What do we do, Five Whiskers?”
Slurskoch had been trained for a wide variety of combat scenarios and contingencies, including losing his immediate superiors, losing most of his unit, and losing his communication link to command. But he’d never been trained for all of those combined at once. That was just not something predators were supposed to be able to do to you.
He fell back to the next best thing.
“What’s the combat computer say?” he asked.
His Controller operated the controls on her console, and after half a minute of querying, she replied, reading off the instructions, “Absent orders, continue the attack. Maybe we can push through.”
“What? Did it take our losses into account?” he protested as he checked the battlemap. Of the nearly five hundred Longclaws that had pushed out of the assembly area, only a quarter remained. At most. Some of the signals on the map were flagging themselves as mobility or mission killed.
She shrugged, “It did. That’s what it says.”
He squinted at her screen. That was indeed what it said.
Slurskoch thought for a moment, sighed, and bowed in prayer, “Our lives were forfeited the day we left our hatchling pools.”
The other crew members all did the same, lowering their heads to mutter the familiar mantra.
That ritual out of the way, he drew up to his full height of 1 meter and mustered all the confidence he could into his voice, “Attack! Attack! Attack!”
POV: Graunsa, Malgeir Federation Planetary Defense Force (Rank: Delta Leader)
The command center watched glumly as the hundred or so surviving Grass Eater Longclaws emerged from the wrecks of their comrades and slowly resumed their charge across the open toward the defense lines.
The flying machines had gotten a lot of them. Quite a few disabled too. And they were disorganized from the loss of their command. Yet they still charged. Diminished as their numbers were, they rolled towards the battered defensive lines with psychotic determination.
We’ve failed.
Graunsa sat down heavily into his chair. He brought up his communication console, connecting it to the advisor network.
The alien appeared on the screen, and though he couldn’t see its face, he could hear the sympathy in its translated voice, “You’ve done all you can, Special Platoon Commander.”
“It wasn’t enough,” he said, shaking his ears sadly. “They’re going to break through our line. Our infantry can’t stop them.”
It tilted its head. “I wouldn’t count them out completely, Delta Leader. They might. They might not. But your next defensive line certainly will hold them. The city behind you will be held.”
“Tracking enemy orbit-to-ground. ETA three minutes,” Gassin reported quietly from next to him.
Graunsa sighed. He looked at the alien, “I think I understand your people now, advisor.”
“You… do?”
“Yeah, at first, when we were picked for this mission, I wondered why your people were doing this.”
“Doing this?” the alien asked, seeming confused.
“Helping us. The weapons. The equipment. The training. The targeting. It was all in secret, but you didn’t have to do it. The other species around us didn’t do it. The Schpriss…” Graunsa snorted, “The long-tails can’t even find it in their spines to send us field rations. I thought your species… your people were just generous. Or perhaps you simply enjoyed the craft of war, being so adept at it.”
“Are we… not?”
“Those reasons may be part of it,” he conceded. “But more importantly, I think your people understand one thing the other species don’t… that we might stop the enemy here. Or we might not.”
“We didn’t set you up to fail, if that’s what you think—”
“But the next defensive line certainly will hold them,” Graunsa said, staring the alien in the eye. “You will hold them. Isn’t that right?”
It sighed. “I would be lying if that wasn’t part of the strategic equation. Our star systems are indeed next in line — sometime in the next decade or two, probably — if these bloodthirsty Buns conquered your Federation. That harsh astropolitical realism. But there’s something else too.”
“Is there?”
“Yes,” it nodded its head firmly in a familiar manner. “Yes, there is. We aren’t a particularly long-sighted species, Graunsa. We can plan, yes, but wars are fought by true believers. People don’t sign up to put their lives on the line for a hypothetical, potential invasion of our Republic twenty years in the future. They— we signed up for this because we truly believe what’s happening to your people… it shouldn’t happen to anyone, ever.”
Graunsa looked at the helmeted head for a while, then nodded. “I believe you, advisor.”
“I’m sorry this didn’t pan out, Graunsa. If I could, I’d be down there with you. We’d have made them pay for this.”
Graunsa smiled. “I believe you about that too. Thank you, advisor, whatever your name is.”
“You may call me Kara,” it said simply. A deft snap of its paws — he hadn’t noticed how soft its claws were before — and it released a latch on its helmet with a hiss. Lifting it from its head, it revealed a soft, smooth face without much fur except a bundle of long, brown strands on its scalp tied up in a neat spherical shape. Its hazel forward-facing eyes stared at him with the empathy that only other predators were capable of, filling him with mild relief. “Don’t tell anyone though,” it joked lightly, mirroring his smile back at him.
You’re not as ugly as I thought you’d be. Not nearly.
Graunsa’s grin widened at the thought. He put it out of his mind. “Ah. One last thing, advisor— Kara.”
“Yes?”
His mind drifted to his cubs at home. Perhaps they were still alive. He chose to believe that. “Our people’s clans and packs…”
“We’ll let them know,” she interrupted him softly. “And when the information quarantine is lifted, we’ll let your clans and packs know what you did here — everything.”
“Good. Thank you.”
Gassin sat down next to him, “Delta Leader, enemy missiles incoming. ETA thirty seconds, they’re entering—” She stopped her report and stared at the unmasked alien on his screen with equal parts wonder and sadness.
“Take a closer look, Gassin,” he ordered softly. “That… that is who will avenge us.”
On screen, the alien put its gloved paw up to its temple, forming a stiff triangle with its arm in a recognizable salute. “It was an honor, Graunsa.”
Graunsa returned it crisply, letting a primitive fire shine through his face. “Happy hunting, Kara.”

Location: Atlas Naval Command, Luna

POV: “Kara”, Terran Reconnaissance Office
Kara watched solemnly as the green signal blinked off the battlemap. She closed her eyes for a moment in silent prayer for the fallen.
Beep. Beep.
Another light on her console blinked urgently for her attention. Four thousand kilometers from the previous one. The war raged on — day and night — across four continents on the besieged planet. Fifty light years from the Republic, its defenders’ sweat, tears, and blood lined the fields and valleys of the beautiful blue sphere not so different from her own. Tens of millions of them: many who she knew would not see the end of this war.
They didn’t all know it, and some might not have cared, but fifty light years away, someone recorded their names, and someone felt a pang of loss for their sacrifice. In the cold, dark forest of the galaxy, somebody heard their trees fall.
Kara collected her thoughts, adjusted the bun in her hair, and lowered the tinted EVA helmet over her face once more.
She cleared her throat as she glanced at the screen and activated the microphone in her helmet, “Special Platoon Commander Treiriu. This call is encrypted, but the enemy Znosians in orbit are trying to find your location from the signals, so we’ll have to make it as quick as we can. Have your defensive lines completed your preparations?”

Meta

Thanks for reading my story! This is a standalone chapter in my Grass Eaters story, meant to be enjoyable all on its own. If you're interested in more of my writing, please do subscribe to the update waffle bot or check out the rest of the universe in Grass Eaters.
(Grass Eaters posts every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. We are closing in on the end of Book 1.)

Hello everyone, I (19M) from Malaysia had done something really stupid last year may 2023 when i was 18 years old. I had made a bad decision and one thing lead to another and i had unprotected sex with another man from grindr (I was bottom). He did not insert his penis fully into my anus and it lasted for about 5 minutes before he pulled out but he did not ejaculate inside. He ejaculated maybe 5 minutes after from stroking it himself as I didn’t feel like continuing it. I have been going through web pages stating that the risk of hiv is the highest for receptive anal sex and im completely loosing it. I’m not sure if I have most of the symptoms listed but i do have the occasional blocked nose. During July I had the worst cough I ever got which lasted for about 2 months and I had occasional sore throats. The cough happened after I had contracted COVID during June of 2023. I just recently did my test at a local clinic and I’m currently waiting on the results. I’m having really bad panic attacks right now and I don’t know what to do. I know it may not sound serious to most of you but its really freaking me out as I overthink a lot. I’m having really bad anxiety right now. Please help me.

So..last week wendsday I started with a sore throat.. Thursday I woke up all messed up and I went to the ER.. cough sore throat bad bad dizziness 2 days later I severely congested bad eye pain and a weird feeling like pressure in my ears moving my eyes around made me feel dizzy that has slightly gotten better then I experienced bad headaches around day 3ish, those haven’t eased up I thought they did but yesterday and the day before night I had this horrible headache on top of head plus eye pain to the point where I think I have a nerve problem in my eye due to the pain and bc in my eye socke I feel something like a vein feeling thing buldging out Yu can’t see if but you can feel pain there and stuff I rubbed my eye so hard prior to that idk if I irritated it or something anyways.. anyone’s eyes hurt I’m on day 8 they hurt when I wake up but then the eye pain stops for only the eye socket and eyebrows to hurt fyi I did have bad sinuses bc my allergy’s and respiratory infection ganged up on me my ears where clogged for like.. 1 week and yeah

We (M33 F29) had an arranged marriage 4 yrs ago. It's been smooth sailing for the most part. We understand and love each other, and deeply care about each other. We have been able to communicate and resolve any other issues that have come between us. Except the issue of kids.
We talked about this on the 1st date. I brought it up and made my stance clear that I don't want kids. I've been leaning CF since my teenage years. I don't know why she didn't state her opinion, or why she didn't continue that conversation further. She just said okay and we moved on with the conversation. This didn't come up after.
3 years laters, we see our friends getting pregnant and now she wants kids. So we have the baby talk. I tell her I see 3 ways this can go

1. I compromise and we have a kid
2. You compromise and don't have a kid
3. Or we depart and try to find someone else who is more compatible.

Even mere mention of spitting up set her off. Super upset by it. Stonewalled for a day. I get that it upset her and stonewalling was just a consequence of her withdrawing, but it still made me feel like shit. I've dealt with that in smaller doses and never seen it as a problem, usually I'll barge after a 1-2 hours and force her to talk thru the issue with me and eventually we'll resolve it. But being ignored this time felt horrible and belittling.
The next time we have this conversation, I explain that I was just listing out options and that I want the both of us to be happy. If we go with options 1 or 2 it should be a 100% all in decision for both of us. If either of us compromise on this issue, and we end up with regrets we'll only resent the other one. She says I should compromise. I bring up the conversation we had on the first date, and she says she thought I meant "I didn't want kids now". Continuing that conversation didn't amount to much, and in her head, it went down in a completely different way and she says she never agreed to it. But she didn't object to it either, it was somehow implicit that she wanted 2 kids and it was my fault I wasn't a mind reader to discern that.
She sees no possibility of a compromise on her end. She has been badgering me for reasons why I don't want kids. I don't have a single reason, I have many. I've shared some of them with her - shit childhood, abusive parents, bullying etc (I'm over all of it), I don't feel keen on taking up a 20yr burden, I value my freedom/solitude, and I don't believe I'll be a good parent. And to me it feels like a crime to bring in a child into this world, that's going to shit. Water scarcity, crime, world becoming more cut throat due to overpopulation etc.
She says we can work on all that and she'll do 200% share of the work and even my share of it. She got her parents involved, who called my parents and started pressuring them to convince me. Everyone seems to be on her side on this. my parents want to support me but they seem torn. they think I should compromise on this too, my mom said 'how can you deny her motherhood'. Parents getting involved created more drama, and it made it harder for us to communicate. Stonewalling escalated, she stormed off during one of the conversations with the car, and didn't tell me where she was going.
No one seems to respect my position on this. I don't want to do this if I'm not a 100% in. And I don't see that happening anytime soon. Believe me, I've tried, I've spent the last 2 months on fencesitter and quora reading up posts about people who've changed their minds after having kids. But it hasn't helped me change my mind, I still feel it's a huge risk - what if I end up with regrets or resentful.
We tried seeing a marriage counsellor, in the hopes that we can communicate better about this. Until now all our conversations would get interrupted cause 5 mins in she would get upset and start stonewalling me. But that didn't go well either, the moment the counsellor mentioned option 3, she decided this wasn't for her. She thought the counsellor would help me see reason.
Since the last week, it's getting a bit out of hand. I got hit with 'if you loved me enough, you'd be willing to go thru with this'. and her parents have taken it to the next level too, harassing my parents saying 'you don't know how to raise you kids, talk to your son and convince him' etc. We had a conversation yesterday, where she just gave up trying to convince me in a 'to hell with this relationship' tone and said she doesn't want to see my face. So I guess we're heading toward a divorce.
It just sucks. In 2 months my loving wife has turned into this person I don't recognize. I feel like all the love she had for me just drained out in the last few weeks, and she's made me feel so guilty for not giving her a kid, she's turned my parents against me. I totally get what she's going thru and I can see that she's in pain - but she's become completely blind to the pain she's causing me. It just sucks that I can't comfort her, and the thought of losing the love of my life is just unbearable. I just feel so lost
thanks for listening

So, 2 weeks ago I was super sick. Thought it was the flu, tested for covid and was positive. Started w the chills, fever, then had stuffy nose & sore throat. I was also superrr dizzy and my left ear felt plugged & full of pressure, so i went to urgent care where they said I had an ear infection. Been taking antibiotics for that.
I was FINALLY feeling better until yesterday I woke up with the EXACT same symptoms that I had 2 weeks ago - insane chills, headache, sore throat (feels like im swallowing knives) and heart palpiltations. I decided to test again to see if it was Covid, and it was negative?
Is this common? Or normal? I just want this to go away😫😫 any advice or any relating stories will Help ease my mind. I’m Anxious!

Fuck my life.
The joke is that of course this would happen to me. It was so mild for my daughter that I doubted she had it at all. Well, not anymore. Daycare sent a letter home last Wednesday that a kiddo in her class went home with HFMD, so not this past week but the one before. I picked her up that day and noticed 2 “pimples” on the back of her neck. This was indeed HFMD. she’d had mild fever and some throat discomfort in the 2 days leading up to the letter and the bumps. She is 100% now, but was kept home thurs and Fri and unfortunately sent back Monday, as I was extremely confident she didn’t have it as nothing progressed past that. I regret my actions, and hope it wasn’t passed on to anyone else. But unfortunately I got a nasty fever, sore throat, body aches, and fluctuation between extreme sweating and extreme chills for 2.5 days…and this morning I’ve woken up with dozens upon dozens of skin-colored bumps on hands, wrists and feet. Roof of mouth is torn up and “shedding”. Pads/tips of all my fingers and toes are sore and tingly.
Husband is fine, of course (but also luckily).
Goddammit. I have a MAJOR project due the Tuesday after Memorial Day, I do not have one minute of time to spare so I’m going to have to work through this no matter what.

Hello everyone. Exactly one month ago I got a minor dirty cut on my hand while cleaning out an old shed, as someone who suffers from health anxiety I immediately got worried about tetanus.
That night I went to a clinic to get the wound cleaned and got a tetanus shot. The very next morning I woke up with pain and tremors in my jaw with minor muscle pain and twitching in my eyes, jaw and chin.
I freaked out and believed I was dealing with tetanus (even though I got a shot) over the next few weeks I went to the ER 3 times because of muscle twitches, pain and jaw tightness thinking I was developing Tetanus. Each time I got turned away since I have been fully vaccinated and it's "impossible to get tetanus".
This period has been one of the most stressful periods of my life (been dealing with personal issues outside of health scares) as well. I would have probably been to the hospital another time if I didn't learn about BFS.
Even though a full month has passed I still worry that I am developing tetanus, though logically I know it's almost impossible because I am vaccinated (only about 30 cases a year happen in the US). Also the muscle pain and "weakness" sent me down other rabbit holes as well.
My symptoms have been:
Muscle pain all over that comes and goes (mainly in legs or arms sometimes one side at a time)
Neck pain and shoulder pain
Jaw pain (that switches sides or is on both sides)
Muscle twitches all over (anywhere from my left ear to the bottom of my foot but mainly in my calves and arms) these only happen when I am resting.
Feeling of something being stuck in my throat, usually only at one side at a time.
Random hot, cold or pins and needles feelings.
Shock type pains that happen randomly.
These symptoms seem to cycle and rarely happen at the same time (so days I have soreness I have less twitches for example).
Thank you all for reading. I'm just posting to see if anyone has delt with similar issues, if I am not dealing with anything serious (like tetanus) I guess this is just some strange manifisation of my OCD and anxiety.
I also understand this could possibly be a side effect of the Vaccine itself, though I think that could be unlikely since this isn't my first booster (got on when I was a teen) but still a possibility.

Book Two: The Academy- Part 8
Getting to their next class was much less chaotic and dangerous, as this time Buck and company made sure to take the human tunnels. Halfway there, he heard Butterfly begin to pipe up excitedly. “Next class we get to learn how to speak Dragon!”
Buck remembered that was the next class on the schedule. He also remembered very well who was going to be teaching it.
“Isn’t Wren from your hometown?” Sala asked Butterfly.
Butterfly apparently did not remember, but soared when he was reminded. “Yeah! Wren is from Talisman like me! She got banished by the Dragonmancers but she came back and kicked them all out!”
“The so-called legend goes…” Holly commented, “That the Dragonmancers were trying to get rid of Wren by feeding her to a dragon. Instead, she found a baby dragon and raised him. That dragon is Sky, our other teacher in this class.”
“So we’re really being taught by the Savior of Humanity?” Badger breathed, “There’s so many things I want to ask her! Like how she raised Sky, and what Pantala was like, and what the dragons’ faces looked like when she talked to them, and—”
“Didn’t Sunny say that Wren doesn’t like talking about saving humanity?” Patience said.
“She said Wren doesn’t like being treated like a savior,” Holly corrected, “And I don’t blame her. All she did was open her mouth to a dragon, the dragons did the rest really. Now we all think she’s some kind of goddess.”
The class was silent afterwards. The classroom Wren and Sky taught in was apparently on the other side of the school from the classroom they came from. It took some time, but eventually they reached the room. To Buck’s surprise, this classroom appeared to be just for humans. While it was big enough that a dragon could fit in it, there were no seats for them.
But that was not what the other students noticed. What, or whom they saw was at the front of the room. A young woman or teenage girl, standing at the feet of a decidedly small-ish dragon with a scale color Buck had never seen before, more like a salmon or a pale shade of orange. Before he could think about the dragon any further, he spoke.
“Hello, humans! Please be seated. This is going to be such a fun class!”
Buck did a double-take towards the dragon. He spoke in Human almost as if he were human himself. All the other dragons were unwieldy speaking in his language, constantly trying to avoid slipping over their tongues. Sky was such a natural that Buck had to make sure it somehow was not Wren’s mouth that was moving.
Buck seated himself, again next to Bailey. He watched Wren’s eyes, and saw a sort of confidence that came from having done this before. Well, she probably did already teach most of the dragons here how to speak Human.
Wren began to speak to Sky, alternating seamlessly between Human and Dragon, meaning Buck could only catch snippets of their conversation. “Humans… these kids… it’ll be easy… what about it?”
Finally, Wren addressed the class for the first time, giving a loud roar that shocked Buck again. How could a human throat make such a loud noise as that!?
“That, in Dragon, was a formal greeting,” Wren clarified to the class. “Welcome to your first day learning to speak Dragon. As you probably already know, I’m Wren, and this big guy here is Sky. We go back a long way, and you may have heard about me and him from the countless stories that have been made up about us. Allow me to hit you with the truth. Me and Sky have not, to date, beat up any dragons who were assaulting human villages, we have not personally defeated the Othermind, and we have not rescued screaming babies out of the mouths of SkyWings or SandWings.” The class started with horror upon hearing the last part of the speech.
Uhh, Buck thought, Did dragons really ever eat human infants? That’d be low, even for them.
“That last one I made up to show just how ridiculous the whole thing is. Dragons have not and never will be eating babies.” The class sighed with relief. “Going on, I have, however, killed a dragon that was going to assault the Indestructible City, but only because he had kidnapped Sky. This is all I will say about my past in this class. Understood?”
The students nodded. “Now then, I would like you to repeat after me.” She went back to speaking Dragon. “Roar growl human roar snarl snarl.”
Buck repeated her to the best of his ability, but it was like trying to fit a boulder through his throat, he had never tried to get his voice to make such low noises.
When the class managed somehow to repeat her sentence to a satisfactory degree, she translated. “That sentence means ‘I am a human, I am not food.’ While a dragon who still thinks humans are worth eating would likely not listen to a human asserting their rights, it is still an important sentence to know.”
Wren walked to the blackboard behind her and began writing down a bunch of the symbols in Dragon writing. “This is that same sentence, written out. When I’m done teaching you, you will be able to talk and interact with dragons, objectively the best thing ever. While many dragons are learning to speak Human, this will allow you to talk with not just some dragons, but all dragons.”
Sky then spoke. “This may be hard for a lot of you at first. Making dragon sounds with your little human voices can be really painful when you’re not used to it. That’s why we have a large bowl of water off to the right of the desks. If your throat begins to feel sore, drink some water.”
Buck appreciated knowing they cared about their voices, especially since his throat was beginning to become irritated just from saying one sentence in Dragon. Wren began to teach the humans various words in Dragon. As Buck repeated the words, his throat did indeed begin to burn, but the water the classroom supplied was cool and fresh and helped greatly with soothing his voice. Finally, after what felt like many hours of speaking various phrases in Dragon like “The moons shine brightly tonight” and “Have you seen my friends?” the gong rang.
“Good work, class!” Sky said encouragingly, “We’ll pick up where we left off tomorrow!”
Buck heard Sala yell “Bye, Sky!” in Dragon as he stood, and he saw Sky’s face light up hearing that. Buck turned and left the room, going back into the tunnel.
“That was a fun class,” Patience said as he caught up with Buck and Bailey.
“Ugh, no.” Holly interjected, “My throat really hurts from all the roaring.”
“Didn’t the water help?” Bailey asked her.
“No. It was like water rushing over molten rock, I think I need to see the nurse.”
“Go do that if you need to.”
“No I don’t think I will.”
Bailey shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Buck pulled his class schedule out of his pocket and looked at it.
12 Noon: Lunch (Dining Hall)
Buck’s stomach grumbled just then, and he realized how long it had been since he had last eaten. He grasped his upper abdomen and looked over to Bailey. “Hey, lunch is next.”
Bailey turned to look at her brother. “Yep! Wonder what they’ll have for us.”
When they reached the dining hall, the dragons had already been seated. He saw Ahi down below perk up as Buck and the others entered. Buck decided to take a better look at the rest of the dining hall, approaching the railing. Just as he predicted, Ahi jumped to her feet and rushed up to the human platform. She gave an excited whine but then, to Buck’s astonishment, spoke in heavily broken, accented Human.
“Hi! Buck! Very good day today!”
“Oh, uh, hi Ahi!” Buck wondered how she suddenly gained the ability to speak his language, but the dragonet was beside herself with glee, apparently knowing she could talk directly to humans was the highlight of her day, enough that she was completely ignoring the platter of fish arriving at her table.
“Daffodil giving me special lessons! I speak like you now!”
Her every word was shouted, which was a bit much for Buck. Nevertheless, he responded: “That’s good, Ahi.” Out of the corner of his hearing Buck could hear a muted scoff come from another one of the dragon tables. He looked over and saw the MudWing from earlier, glaring in Buck and Ahi’s direction. He deliberately ignored him and looked back at Ahi, who was staring at him with sparkling eyes.
“How your shoulder? When you take off that…” She clearly could not find her next word.
“Sling?” Buck finished for her.
“Sling!” She shouted back.
“I don’t know. I think it’s healing pretty well though.”
“That’s great!” Ahi seemed to finally notice her food waiting for her. “I go eat now!”
“Bye, Ahi!” Buck waved at her before turning and finding that his own food was waiting. It seemed to be a huge feast of smoked fish fillets and a salad made up of lettuce, carrots, and tomatoes. Buck sat between Patience and Bailey, who seemed to have left a seat open for him, and began to pile fish and salad onto a waiting plate in front of him.
“Buck,” Bailey told him between mouthfuls, “You and Ahi look like you’re getting along really well.”
Buck paled, then blushed when he realized what she meant. “Uh, it’s not like I haven’t gotten over what happened years ago… or anything. I just know she’s not going to eat me! She’s way too small to even try!”
“That’s a start,” Patience added. “The Buck I met back at the Lodge, he would have not even bothered to go talk to her.”
“I just, can’t get it out of my head, that we might be in danger. It’s like what we heard on the way to Winter’s class, the Scourge is still around here. What if she gets into the school?”
Patience paled. “Hold on, the Scourge is still near the school?”
Just then, a wave of heat suddenly washed over the students, and Buck pivoted his head over into the dragon section to see something that made his heart jump down into his stomach. It was a SkyWing, but in a deep, terrifying red, and her whole body was shimmering with heat. “What is that?” Buck whispered fearfully to Patience.
The dragon seemed to be aware of its heat, and was sliding between tables, its wings tightly folded to its body. Even the dragons seemed to be wary of it, shifting in their seats as the superheated dragon passed by.
“Oh, that’s Peril,” Holly finally explained, leaning over towards Buck, “She’s the security here at JMA.”
Buck swallowed. “Why do I feel like I’m imperiled just by her being here? Is a dragon who could burn me to ash just by being near me somehow supposed to make me feel safe?”
“The point is,” Badger explained, “If any dragon tries to hurt a human here, they’re going to deal with her, and her entire squad of guards. She’s been constantly patrolling the school and the skies around it to look for signs of the Scourge. So yeah, you should feel safe around her.”
Buck shook his head. “As long as I keep my distance anyway.”
Buck decided to ignore Peril and continue eating. He soon had his fill, and he looked back to see Peril in the far corner of the dining hall, eating all alone. The other dragons seem to be scared of her too… I admit, that’s gotta suck, being that lonely.
Though that thought was banished when he saw Clay approach her, and somehow, wrapped a wing supportively around her body before sitting down and eating with her. Somehow he’s not affected by that much heat.
Buck noticed that Bailey and Patience had finished eating, so the three of them stood. “What’s next?” Patience asked.
Buck took out his class schedule and looked it over. “Looks like we have free time for the next hour or so.”
“Let’s go to the library!” Bailey said, “I want to read some more scrolls about the Scorching if they have them.”
“Can I come with you?” Badger asked, approaching them. “I want to read some of those scrolls too.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Patience concluded, “Let’s head over there!”
The library was well lit with sunlight from outside at this time of day, though Buck realized he had not seen the sun ever since he had entered the Academy. He felt cold all of a sudden, realizing he was stuck indoors, possibly for the rest of the school year. Couldn’t they have built, like, a big porch for us to get some outdoors time?
Bailey, Badger and Patience meanwhile were talking with Starflight. “I’m afraid,” the NightWing said, “We don’t have any more scrolls on the Scorching that are up to date with current knowledge. The ones we have… would be highly antagonistic of humankind, probably very offensive to you.”
“Can we read one anyway?” Badger asked him, “History is important to read about regardless of whether it’s offensive.”
“Well, I suppose. Let me go get the one I used to study.” Starflight walked over to the wall of scrolls and pulled one off, then sat on a large cushion, beckoning the children to join him. Buck went over to join him.
“This is the Legend of the Scorching. I contributed my studies of it to the guidebook we wrote after we started Jade Mountain Academy. After finding out who humanity really is… reading it again made me feel a little sick. If at any point you want me to stop, just tell me.”
The kids nodded, and Starflight began to read.
Dragons of the day and age were solitary creatures.
“So you guys didn’t always have a civilization?” Patience asked Starflight, who shook his head.
“It’s how humans managed to survive until the Scorching. I believe you humans call it ‘safety in numbers.’ Forming into communities provides an incredible amount of protection.”
“Probably also the reason why whatever civilization humans could scrounge back from the dead never got any bigger than it is now,” Buck commented solemnly, “Since dragon civilization was now in the way.”
Starflight continued. The scavengers, however, were not content… They killed the dragons’ prey and choked the skies with smoke.
“Smoke?” Bailey said, “What use would we have for that much smoke?”
Badger tilted his head, wondering. “Maybe humans had really big fireplaces back then?”
“We may never know why humans had such an obsession with clogging the air with smog,” Starflight said, “Anyway, let me continue.”
No one knows why a scavenger would steal a dragon egg…
“Well we do know now,” Buck sighed, “But it wasn’t exactly a good reason.”
But we know he stole it from the wrong dragon… And so she found the other dragons… They became their talons and her claws and her ferocious teeth.
“The humans, most of them, probably weren’t aware of Cottonmouth’s scheme,” Patience said, “To them, the dragons would have washed over them unprovoked.”
“And the dragons of the Scorching were also unaware of that,” Starflight continued glumly, “They lumped all of humankind together in their anger.”
When the Scorching was complete, the scavengers who survived scattered into hidey-holes across the world. Powerless, insignificant, no more than prey, as they should have been all along.
“There’s the part that made me sick,” Starflight sighed, “They really didn’t know back then, and even if they did, they probably wouldn’t have cared.”
“But you do now,” Badger said, placing a soft hand against Starflight’s talon, “And that counts for something!”
“It’s just… Knowing what we do now about humans is a heavy burden for many dragons. When humans call us ‘man-eaters’ or ‘monsters,’ it cuts deep, because so many of us felt so stupid to not see what we were doing. And the fact that some humans do forgive us, I think that proves to me, that humans are much stronger than dragons. To be able to spend over five-thousand years hiding from our claws and teeth, to have lost everything to us, and still being able to come to us and understand us. I can’t imagine being that strong.”
Buck felt this statement deep within him, and he felt he had to say something in response. “When I knew… knew that my parents were gone, I felt like I lost my whole world. I was a lot younger back then. My parents were everything to me.” a tear formed on Buck’s eyelids. “And yeah, I hated dragons because of it. I wanted to kill them all, or at least any of the dragons who came too close to Vale. And when Winter came to Vale, I thought it was going to happen all over again. That I was about to lose Bailey, and my new father. But then, Winter spoke. And my whole world was shattered again. Because now I couldn’t really call them monsters. It took me a while to get used to that.”
Bailey wrapped an arm around Buck’s shoulder, prompting a light sob from the boy. “Buck, it’s like Starflight said. You showed so much strength in coming out here and listening to what the dragons had to say. Dad knew, of course, that coming here would help you. He’s a really smart man. So I hope you’ve learned from this. The dragons are here to help now. You just have to let them into your heart.”
Buck wiped a tear falling from his eye. “Thanks, guys.”
“Hey, how’s about we head back to our dorm and relax,” Patience let out a big stretch, “We’ve had a pretty long day so far.”
Buck chuckled. “I haven’t even picked a bed yet, since I spent last night in the infirmary. Yeah, let’s head over there.”
“It was a pleasure speaking with you kids,” Starflight said, “Hearing your opinions on everything has lifted a heavy weight off my shoulders.”
“No problem, Starflight,” Bailey complimented, “Now, let’s head back upstairs!”
The humans scurried out of the library to head back to their dorm, and Starflight rested his head on the open scroll, letting out a big, deep sigh. “If only they knew back then… How wonderful they are.”

0600 - The Vengeful Spirit

It was supposed to be normal, standard even. A Druhkari attack on the world they were in current diplomatic actions with for their compliance and joining the fold of the Imperium. Surprising, but not shocking, the planetary leaders had mentioned that they had to deal with Druhkari slavers from time to time. This was expected to be rather quick, as this world wanted to join the Imperium, for both protection and resources, so I did not join Hathor planet side.
It was a small detachment of Druhkari slavers, not expecting the Emperors finest. They would push back and eliminate the Druhkari, or as worst set a defensive line and flank. They had everything in advantage, and was mostly expected the Druhkari would retreat when witnessing their disadvantage. So I remained aboard the flagship, sitting near low orbit, passing the time with training.
I felt a sharp pain as the wooden sparring sword dug between his ribs, pulling him from his thoughts, and shoving him to the ground. He laid there wheezing for a moment, trying to catch his breath when the imposing figure of Sargent Decurius loomed into view. Even silhouetted by the light behind the Sargent as he leaned over him, he cloud still see the slow smile draw itself across his face.
"You're distracted sir." He reached out a hand to help me up, the size dwarfing my own as I reached upwards to grab it. He fully clasped his hand around mine, like an adult would a toddler, and gently helped pull me to my feet.
"It's hard not to be." I responded, slowly catching my breath as I leaned on my wooden sword. Though I was drenched in sweat and marred by bruises, the Sargent was untouched by both my sword and fatigue. "Druhkari are viscous things, and not to be underestimated, and we haven't heard from them since the attack begun an hour ago."
"She's fought them before sir, and plenty more things. It's common for the start of the battle to have little communication with the flagship. When they get into a stable position and establish a front line they will disseminate information and dictate further orders for the troops waiting in orbit...just like always sir."
His tone was even, almost logical in nature, yet I understood why. I was letting my emotions get the best of me, he was attempting to ground me by countering my fears with facts. I smiled at the honest attempt walking over to the pitcher of water that awaited the both of us.
"Thank you Sargent. Not too long ago you would have told be to silence my babbling or go find a nursemaid to cry to."
I poured us both a glass as he cringed slightly at the comment. "It's thanks to you sir. My time with Brother Sresh of the Salamanders was most insightful. Without it, I would not have been able to enjoy the time I have shared with you as I do now."
"Don't thank me Sargent. I simply recognized where you could grow, and an environment where you could do it. It is the duty of all of us to learn and improve. Just as I learn the sword, you learn the soul. The difference is that you are a teacher and pupil, where I am just a pupil. Who you should send your thanks to is who taught you." He gave me a strange look as I handed him his glass, though as soon as I noticed it, it vanished.
I had seen a few marines wear a similar look, but it was a flicker of emotion. One that could not be studied or understood without delving into their very mind or questioning them. If a marine purposefully hid an emotion or thought, no question he could ask would drive it out. Still the Sargent held out his glass of water, offering a simple toast. For a second I thought he was holding the pause just before he spoke for a few moments longer than needed as he knew my thirst, but he finally relented.
"To growth." He said holding his glass out. "To growth." I responded, my glass meeting his before it begun the eager journey to quench my thirst. Just as the water was about to touch my lips the doors burst open. Red faced and breathing heavy was a servant, eyes feverishly searching the room until they landed on me.
"SIR REKEM!" He shouted, barely able to force the words out between labored breaths. I withheld me sigh as my glass was pulled from my lips. "Alright calm down now, I can't have you dropping dead from exhaustion. I'm finishing up my sparring so give me some ti-"
"THE COMMANDER IS INJURED." He chocked out once more, a fit of coughing brought on right after. The silence in the room was physical, like a spell everyone and everything seemed to freeze in time as if that statement was a mystical chant to hold the world still.
Time resumed when the glass from my hand shattered on the floor. The Sargent pulled from his daze rushed over to the pitcher and handed it to the exhausted servant. He turned his head to me to seem my robe flutter out the door and down the hallway. Apparently he was calling my name, I wouldn't know. I couldn't hear anything but the blood in my ears.

0610 - The Helm of the Vengeful Spirit

I rushed to the helm as fast as my legs could carry me though the winding hallways of the void ship. As the doors to the helm came into view the two marines standing guard almost made a half step to stop me until they recognized who I was. For their sake I slowed my run to a stalking march as they opened the doors for me. I skipped the usual thanks and conversation I would start with them, hopping they would understand.
The Sargent for his merit was not far behind me, having become my unofficial bodyguard in the times that Hathor was not onboard the ship. The entire helm seemed to hold it's breath as I stormed in, a crowd of marines standing around a holographic map of the supposed battlefield. Among them Loken stepped forward, hands raised with a prepared speech on his lips.
"Loken the only thing that better leave your mouth is what I want to know or it will be sewn shut."
His mouth snapped shut, turmoil crossing his face as he weighed his options before he finally let out a sigh. "We don't know much. Most communications are being blocked across a large sector, our vox operators assume it to be Xeno tech. Certain transmissions seem to be allowed to get through, but from what we can see this leads to confusion and ambushes." He directed me to the map of the battle field, showing the last known positions of various troops.
"Our forces were pulled into the desert just outside the capital to engage the Xeno's. A vox transmission sent from Captian Kibre managed to breech through the static to tell us that the commander was wounded. Before any further information could be relayed the transmission was shut off."
I nodded and scanned the map as he spoke, recalling my sessions with Minerva as I did so. I wish she was here at this moment, her and Juno would be a godsend against the Druhkari. The creeping weight of the severity of the situation was also something I did not know if I could carry alone. I took a deep breath, turning to Loken. "That is what we know, now what do we think."
Loken was a genius, and Captian of the 10th for a reason. As I asked his eyes returned to the map, his focus drew inward as no doubt hundred of possibilities and plans where conjured, analyzed, and discarded in seconds until only a few remained. Finally he spoke, the lighter tone he used when relaying information was gone. No doubt he as well was doing his best to soften the blow of the news, but now that he was asked for answers he would deliver them.
"The primary information given was the fact the Commander was injured. This means that information was the highest priority, given that such a transmission has never happened before, we can assume that the commander is gravely injured." The phrase alone seemed to suck the air out of the room. If anyone else in any other situation had uttered such a thing they would be seen as mad or as disgracing the capabilities of the commander. I gave a single nod to Loken. "Continue."
"We do know that this is a detachment of Druhkari slavers, but we are taking no precautions to hide our forces. Meaning they either attacked knowing they could fight against us, or attacked knowing we where here. The Druhkari could have attacked any other part of the planet and we would have had a delayed response, but they attacked the only part in which there were members of the Imperium."
The weight of the situation seemed to fall past my shoulders and rest somewhere in my stomach, drawing down a deep pit which only seemed to grow as I slowly reached the conclusion that Loken was describing. Still he continued on, and I hoped that he wouldn't say what I was fearing.
"The fact that the commander was both attacked and injured to an extent to relay it to the flagship, makes me think that either her or someone on the flagship is the target of the slavers." On saying someone he turned to me, as seemingly everyone else on the bridge did. My hands tightened on the metal rim of the holographic map, knuckles turning white. Silence once again gripped the room, settling in my throat like a lump that threatened to choke me. I took another deep breath, loosing myself to my emotions wouldn't help the commander, but I also wouldn't forget them.
"Sargant." I barked out, startling some of the helmsmen as i stood ram rod straight. "Prepare a dropship and yourself immediately. Bring five others of your choice, I trust in your judgement. Call for Apothecary Hannibus, he will be joining us as well. I ne-" Loken cut in, stepping forward.
"Sir this could very well be a trap, for you or anyone else that would go. The commander also stated that you were to st-"
I rounded on him, fire in my eyes as rage seemed to burn my skin. "Captain. With the Commander injured and missing, I am taking command of the Vengeful Spirit and the Luna Wolves. As her consort am I not her second in command of all things?"
I could see the conflict in his mind as it crossed his face briefly. My claims stood on little more than ceremony rather than practiced tradition. Any other officer had a stronger claim to take control of the army than I did right now, but although it was a technicality, it still existed in Imperium law. His voice one against dropped into a lighter tone, an attempt at soothing rather than relaying of analytical information.
"Sir I understand how you feel but now is not the time to be rash. The commander has been thr-" I cut him off once more, my voice raising above his gentle tone.
"I am going to save my wife, Captain. Now you can either kill me or join me becuase anything else won't work and is a waste of my time." Shock wove it's way through the room in a wave. I had always been formal with the Commander, and her with me. Outside of those I regularly spoke with, this statement would certainly come as a surprise. Loken gained control of himself quickly, nodding in response. "I am with you sir."
"Good, stay here and take control of the helm." I turned to leave when he raised his voice in confusion.
"But sir you sai-"
"I know what I said Captain, but your place beside me right now is here. There is a reason the Commander left you here and there is a reason I am. I can not control this fleet, nor can I place reinforcements or respond to flanks. I need someone who can, someone with experience, and who has the trust of many to follow these strategies. Can I trust you to do this Captain?" Loken stalled for a moment, no doubt looking at the possibilities of this action, seeking the best choice he could. Finally after a few seconds he smiled and gave a nod. "Yes sir, you can."
"Good, you have the helm. Sargent with me." I turned on my heel, marching out of the helm to gather what I needed and prepare myself. As the doors closed behind us and we distanced ourselves from the guards I heard the Sargant's voice break the rhythmic beat of our footsteps. "That's the first time you addressed the Commander as your wife Sir."
"Is that going to be a problem Sargant?" Even though I did not turn my head I could feel his smile form on his face as he responded. "No Sir."
I nodded at his answer. "Good, becuase your going to be hearing it a lot more. Now, gather your men and the apothecary, we meet at the drop pods in a half hour." The Sargent turned at an intersection, now sprinting down the halls at a speed I could not hope to match as I made my way to my quarters. I could not tell which emotion was greater in me at the moment. The rage that made my blood feel like fire, or the worry that sunk into my stomach like a bottomless pit. Both spurred me to match the Sargant's idea, and broke into a run to my quarters.

I’m 9+3 weeks today. Last Saturday I woke up with a super sore throat after being around someone who had strep unknowingly.
Went to urgent care and tested negative. Still felt bad on Monday so went back thinking maybe I tested too soon. Still negative for step and Covid.
I feel like I have a sinus infection or maybe even the flu. It just will not go away. They didn’t prescribe me anything and my head just still feels so clogged.
Of course this makes me more anxious about the baby.
Idk what to do at this point. I’ve never felt so for bad so long.

I learned how to do mewing with correct tounge posture and started doing it. I had a sore throat after 2-3 days but i thought it would be temporary as I've read other posts about mewing causing sore throat on this subreddit. But now, i think it caused laryngitis and I can't even speak a single sentence properly. Has anyone experienced this before?

The first rays of rosy-fingered dawn climbed their way over the Macedonian hills and fell like arrows to glint upon the racing bronze of the Scythian raiders. Death clattered and rang among the early morning light as they made their way across the plateau towards the waking village. Gleaming in the rosy light, but obscured by the mist, they seemed like comets cast as Olympian arrows. Their horses' breath clung in the air as they dragged behind them chariots of bronze and chariots of iron. Each carried two men. Those with bronze carried a driver and an archer with bow bent, while those with iron carried a man with a mighty cleaving axe. Each driver also carried for himself a leather shield and bronze short sword. Behind the chariots came footmen equipped like the drivers, and at their flanks rode horsemen carrying one-handed axes, javelins, and wooden shields covered with leather. Thus the horde came down the valley towards the village, cloaked in the fog, but vastly beyond what their victims could hope to muster.
Then, the fog parted like the curtain of a theater. Before the coming horde stood arrayed a sturdy phalanx, a wall of bronze shields and forest of spears aimed towards the invaders. Behind them, men stood with bows bent and arrows knocked. At their center, a man sat astride a white-faced bay mare. Shining in his steel armor, he drew his bow and fired. An arrow sped into the eye of the foremost driver, and a moment later another caught his axeman in the throat. He roared with a voice like a trumpet. “MEN OF MACEDON, SET YOUR HEARTS ABLAZE!” Thus cried Leonidas Kygniois, keen eyed hunter, and with one voice his men answered him. “WOE! WOE! WOE TO THE WICKED!” At those a volley of arrows was loosed from behind the phalanx and fell among the Scythians. Many died, as Leon bid his aide unfurl the banners. Across the field each unit raised up two banners. Below was the banner of the unit, and above the sun with sixteen rays. Besides Leonidas arose his own banner, the white wolf on the blue field, under the black dragon’s wing.
The foremost forces of the Scythians were caught in the charge, unable to pull away. They crashed into the wall of shield and spear with the terrible sound of breaking bones, shearing bronze, dying horses and dying men. All the while arrows continued to rain, and the slaughter was brutal. But then, swift as a winding river, the Scythians turned and wheeled away. The chariots of bronze sent forth arrows of their own, coated in serpent’s venom. The phalanx raised their shields, and covered themselves. Even so some struck through, and the venom wrought a terrible toll on the men. Even so, the phalanx began to march forwards, stepping over the dead with their grim chant. “WOE! WOE! WOE TO THE WICKED”. With this chant they kept their stride, and advanced as a seamless wall. The wounded fell back, helped by their brothers. The archers helped guide them back, and reservists stepped forwards to replace them. Thus the army advanced.
The Scythians pulled back, and danced at the range of the archers. They sought a weakness, or to create a weakness. The bronze chariots formed into a circle and spun like a wheel. Each man turned and fired, and slipped out of range. It was troublesome to target and gave each Scythian plenty of time to line up his shot. In their midst was one most terrible, their chief in gilded chariot. Shining was their armor, brilliant as the sun, head hidden behind a helm like a lion. Their bow was strong and eye keen. Whenever they loosed, a Hellene fell dead.

At the same time, the chariots of iron gathered on the left, and with them the horsemen of the left. The army of the Hellenes had deployed on the flat ground before the village, with a forest on their right to guard that flank. For a flanked phalanx was a doomed phalanx, and the flat ground was optimal both for maintaining a unified line, but also for the chariots and horsemen to maneuver. So the scythians gathered on the left, and sought to envelop the Hellenes there. Their chief suspected their enemy might have hidden horsemen in the mists, and so the wheel turned. They drew forth arrows set with whistles and fired them into the flank. The arrows screamed with a terrible sound to spook horses and sunder morale. Then forwards the flanking force drove to envelop the foe, or else slip behind them to wreak ruin among the archers.

There they found the strongest of the Hellenes. Beneath a banner showing serpent-haired Medusa, they stood clad head to toe in steel. No arrow could find purchase against these immortals, and no blade of bronze could wound them. They turned with grim purpose, spears tracking the foe as the mist lifted. The flanking scythians found themselves with no cover, facing no exposed flank, but the royal elite of the Macedonian army.
Then out from their midst stepped a dark-haired woman with piercing blue eyes. She pulled back her cowl to reveal a diadem, and opened her thumb on a bladed ring. She reached into her cloak and drew forth iron shavings, a magnetic stone, and rose thorns. Then she spoke words of power and imposed her sovereignty over reality.
“Apaangan
Loha
Kaante”
Then she blew the iron over the field. From the bones of the earth, iron answered. It erupted like a field of nails under the feet of the horses. They screamed in pain and stumbled. They fell and cast their riders on the thorns, or else were slowed in their stride. Thus the charge was stalled and the pace ruined. Then spoke the witch again and the air stank of ozone.
“Trisula.
Munhatod
Bijalee chamakana.”
By these words she called forth lightning. It came as a brilliant trident to her bloodied hand. Her hair came alight into the air with static, her diadem gleamed in its light. The enemy saw her and beheld the dread heir of Olympus, last and mightiest of the demigods, Queen Cassandra of the Macedonians. She hurled forth her trident into the air. There it broke and a storm cloud formed over the battle. The fury of Heaven rained down on the chariots of the Scythians. Their chariots of iron were brought to ruin. Their men fell bloodied, deafened, and burned. So Cassandra brought ruin to her enemies.
Thus, the enemy retreated from the hellene lines, and fled from the wrath of Cassandra, daughter of Zeus. For her fury was terrible, and her deeds were mighty. Thus they came back around their chief, and escaped the ruin that had come upon them. They withdrew, step by step, and runners were sent further back to the baggage train to make ready. On the Hellenes came against them, but they were slow in step and cautious. Leon watched the canny chief of the Scythians, and never did his eye wander. The chief in turn watched him, and both put hand to bow, though they did not loose at one another. The range was wrong, but each made ready for their duel.
At length, the Hellenes pushed the Scythians back beyond the extent of the forest, and so their left became exposed. Their chief launched a probing attack with their horsemen, who drew near and threw their javelins into the midst of the Hellene line. The line recoiled, pulling back and inwards, bunching up. At this sign of weakness, at once the chieftain struck. The chariots closed in for the kill. Likewise, the horsemen circled and lowered their spears. As one they would drive into the exposed flank of the Hellenes and drive them from the field.
Then the forest vanished. It had not all been an illusion of it, but enough of it. The chieftain turned, the world seemingly slowing to a crawl. Out of the fading shadow ran bold men armed with long spears. They crashed into the flank of the charging horde and into the midst of the chariots. They drove their spears into the wheels of the chariots, and ground them to a stop. They thrust upwards at the horsemen, who’s mounts reared away from the danger. The charge had been utterly disorganized by this sudden surprise attack, and the advantage was to the Hellenes.
Valiantly the Scythians fought, and most valiant was their chieftain. They lashed about themselves with axes and swords. Their chieftain hefted high a mighty flax; a reverse-edged blade held in two hands. Down the falx fell, and a Hellene that drew too near was all but split in two. The surprise was sudden, but for their charge the Hellenes had forsaken shield and heavy armor. As surprise faded, the battle seemed to shift in favor of the Scythians. Yet the chieftain lifted up their eyes, and saw that they were in danger. The Hellene cavalry finally made its move. Slipping in behind and around the bulk of the Scythian force, with Leonidas at their head, they made to encircle and destroy the Scythian mobile element.
Then the tide truly turned against the Scythians, as a roar sounded out of the mist. A shadowy blur, nearly the size of an elephant, was among them. It snatched the wounded out of the jaws of death, and threw aside chariot and horse with ease. Axes struck at it, and bounced. Spears thrust and were broken. A few bold horsemen charged towards the black mass in the mist, then she raised up her head. Great wings split the mists aside, and her majesty froze horse and rider alike in terror.
Her body was like that of a panther or other great cat, covered in interlocking scales like a serpent. Her four limbs were long and powerful, ending in mighty claws gleaming white as ivory. A tail like a scorpion lashed, a glaive-headed blade at its tip, sharp enough to split a man in twain, swifter than arrows. A long neck terminated in a head a bit like a horse, a bit like a viper, and a bit like a bird of prey. Plated black scales overlapped across her body, gleaming in the dawnlight, sturdier than steel, yet flowing like water. Blue fire lapped around the edges of a mouth full of teeth like daggers. Two great wings eclpsed heaven behind her, leathery like a bat. Long white scars from battles past covered her throat, as eyes like amber froze men like trapped bugs.
Seramis of Achaea, the Dragon Princess, entered the battlefield.
The chieftain saw this doom amongst their men, but watched with wisdom. Though Seramis wielded terror as her weapon, roaring with flame and talons drawn, she wielded only terror. She might have slain many easily, but she used the Gehennan flames as only a firewall. Her tail lashed and claws struck, but they slapped rather than slashing. The dragoness certainly broke bones, but that was more a function of mass than malice. Her priority was the wounded, and she struck those that got in her way.
“Avoid the dragon! Do not strike the wounded, nor stand to capture them! Slay them in a single blow, or wound them and move away before the dragon intervenes!” The chieftain cried, and while the Hellenes could not understand her, Seramis did. The Diluvian princess turned her head and looked toward the lion-helmed Scythian. The pair shared a look of understanding, before the tumult of battle resumed their attention.
Seramis continued her work, all the easier for the lack of interference. Acting as both medic and ambulance, she rescued the wounded, Hellene and Scythian alike. Following in her shadow came a creature a bit like a ram, with seven horns of lapis lazuli. This was her familiar, a spirit of knowledge she called Elijah. He acted as her diagnosticator, identifying wounds and ailments to aid her work. Sera cast spells of healing, not complex work but quick and efficient. Bleeding stalled, bones were set, and pain was soothed. Then she would take the wounded and lash them to her side and back with tendrils of shadow. Once she had gathered a full load of men, she retreated back behind the Hellene lines. There she deposited them with the healers, and leapt forth to rescue yet more.
With the dragoness identified as less a threat, and more a mobile hazard, the Scythians returned their focus to the Hellene cavalry. Their own cavalry had been Leon’s primary target during the initial confusion of the charge, and he had made good use of the opportunity. Many a Scythian horseman had been slain in those first few moments, and no less than thirteen by the prince of marathon’s own hand. The white-feathered shafts of his steel-tipped arrows were seen planted in throat, eye, and heart, a testament to the prince’s deadly aim and fearsome bow. For he was wolf to ringbearers, and the strength of his bow and the superior metal of his arrows pierced breastplates of bronze, even the scale mail of the Scythians.
Even so, while the Hellenes had bled the Scythian horse fiercely, they had less success against the charioteers. The chariots provided additional cover from Hellene javelins, and space to evade their lances. Moreover, their sturdy construction made them perilous to the Hellenes horses, as a swinging wheel could easily break a leg. Finally, the simple fact that each chariot was a two-man team allowed for greater resilience. One man focused on driving, and the other on fighting. If either was wounded so they could not do their work as well, they could switch. Even if the driver was outright killed, the other could take over and use the mass of the chariot as a weapon. So, though the play gave the Hellenes the advantage, the Scythians were far from out of the fight.
So, with fury, their chieftain rallied their men about them and led a fierce counterattack. With the superior durability of the chariots and their mighty chief at their head, the Scythians reaped a bloody retaliation on their foes. Leonidas ordered his men back, to gather themselves anew. Each side had been bloodied, and both sought a retreat. Then with a cry, he took his personal guard back in, aimed directly at the enemy general. His bow was drawn, and fired.
The Scythian general stepped to the side of their chariot, dodging the shot. They drew their own bow, aimed, and fired. Leon evaded, but he wasn’t the target. Instead, his horse was. The white-faced bay mare took the Scythian’s arrow in her flank. The wound was minor, but the poison was not. She ran on seven steps, then seized, and fell down dead. Leon leapt from his dying steed, and landed in a roll. He came up with shield and spear at the ready, as the Scythian chief turned their chariot towards him.
The two general’s bodyguards whirled in a melee as the Scythian and Hellene commanders faced each other in single combat. The Scythian forsook their bow, knowing their poisoned arrows could not pierce the prince’s steel armor. Instead they raised high their fell falx, as their chariot closed in. Leon readied himself as the chariot closed to trample him. Then, at the last moment he sprang aside, unusually agile despite his heavy armor. Still, the lion helm tracked him, and down the falx came. Leonidas raised his shield and set his feet. The shield was steel, and sturdy enough to shatter a blade of bronze such as the falx falling upon him. But it struck true, and carved the steel shield, then kept going. Leon pulled back, but he’d braced himself and couldn’t maneuver. His steel armor parted, and he came away with a serious gash in his arm. He felt the blade hit bone, and realized that if he hadn’t been so well equipped, that blade would have taken his left arm off, cutting straight through the bone.
Still, though he bled, he did not quail. He threw aside his ruined shield and took his spear in both hands. While his foe had the mass and momentum of a charging chariot, the physics of metallurgy dictated that their blade should have broken against him. Curved blades were more fragile, a trade-off for their superior cutting power, and a bronze blade should have no chance against steel. If physics were being violated, it meant sorcery was at play. The enemy’s blade was enchanted.
Again came the chieftain with their blessed blade. Their horses panted heavily in the air, adding to the rattle of the chariot. Chaos swirled around them, but Leon silenced it. The world reduced to simply himself, his enemy, and the vanishing space between. He set his target, and waited for the space to entirely vanish. The beat of the horse’s hooves were set like a metronome. Then, at the precise beat, he shattered the rhythm. He drove his spear forwards into the knee of the Scythian horse. The spear’s wooden haft shattered from the force, but so did the stallion’s leg. It collapsed in a bloody heap, tangling its partner. The chariot crashed into its steeds, slaying both brutally. The chieftain and their driver were staggered, but grasped hold of the chariot and were not thrown.
Leonidas took fourteen calculated steps, moving around the wreck of the chariot, then stepping aboard. In a single motion he drew his blade and cut upwards. The driver fell back as a spray of blood erupted from his throat. He slumped over the front of the chariot, blood flowing to mingle with the horses. Leon whirled on the chieftain as a shout of rage came to their lips. He stepped in close, too close for his foe to swing their great blade effectively. Here, his short blade had the advantage, and the chariot cornered his target. He drew the blade back to his hip like he was knife-fighting, and thrust upwards towards the foe’s beast. The scaled armor of the Scythians was legendarily hard to slash through, but the overlapping scales that caused such strength were vulnerable to this exact kind of upwards thrust. But his canny foe knew the armor’s weaknesses just as well, and pivoted with agility to rival the warrior prince.
They slashed with their great falx, but the range was awkward, so Leon evaded. He then pivoted, taking his blade in both hands. Gritting through the pain of his wounded arm, he wheeled with a mighty blow. He put his back, legs, and both arms into a murderous strike too quick to evade. The Scythian chief recognized it, and ducked their head. Rather than suffering a decapitating blow, they took the hit on the crown of their helm. The gold gilding it deformed and parted, but this was by design. By using a coating of deformable gold above the bronze, the helmet could better absorb slashing attacks. The gold twisted as it was cut, catching the blade and altering the edge alignment. Leon cut though, but rather than burying his sword midway into his target’s skull, he cut apart the helm and left a relatively shallow wound along his foe’s scalp, running down their forehead and across their face. The lion helm split, and fell away. Leon looked the enemy general in the eye for the first time, and hesitated.
The helm fell away, and out spilled long, golden hair, now matted in places by blood. A fair face, with piercing blue eyes looked up at him. A warrior’s snarl covered her face, as the Scythian Queen recovered. She snapped up and slammed the hilt of her falx into Leon’s eye. The prince staggered back, blinking to recover, as she took a step back in turn. With this, she obtained her range, and cut down with her falx. Leon raised his sword to block, but the reverse curve of the unusual weapon made it difficult. His wound caused his arm to spasm, and the curve came around the sword. The enchanted blade bit ito the common one, then cast it away. Leon’s wrist was wounded in the exchange, and blood began to fill his gauntlet.
Leon realized his peril, and stepped in swiftly. He caught his foot behind hers, and pulled back as he slammed his shoulder into her. The queen fell back, but caught herself on the edge of her chariot so she did not fall. Leon pressed in, pinning her arm with his his hand so she could not swing. He drew his hunting knife, and it was at her throat in a moment. His grip was unsteady, as his wrist was wounded, and he felt an utter brute to have a knife at a woman’s throat. “Yield. I do not wish to harm you.” He ordered, uncertain if she could even understand.
The Scythian Queen laughed in his face. “You do not wish to harm me?” She asked through a thick accent. “Then you should never have come to the battlefield! Know that I am Tamur, Queen of the Scythians, no soft flower of the south that you might bruise with your breath. I am here to that I might crush my enemies, drive them before me, hear the lamentations of your pathetic women, and reap from your ruin the prosperity of my people. Slay me now you coward, or else you must yield, for I will slay you without mercy.” Clear and clarion was her voice, as Athena upon the battlefield or Artemis on the hunt. She feared neither death nor injury, and laughed in spite of the carnage all about them.
Leon held his ground and was not moved by her laughter or insult. “Hear me then, oh Queen of the Scythians. What is greater cowardice? To be slain for principle, or to breach principle for fear of being slain? You are a mighty warrior; this I cannot deny. But this is my principle, that no man is any man that slays a woman, even if she is a warrior. I bid you now yield, that we might bring peace between our people and an end to this meaningless conflict you have brought about.” He spoke with all respect due to a fellow warrior, and with the resolve of his own indestructible soul.
“Far be it from meaningless, warrior of the Hellenes. Would you not do anything, even go beyond the bounds of the earth for your people? Hear now my principle, that my people shall conquer that we might not be conquered. For you who are blessed with so much shall not offer a pittance to our meager tents. So we shall take, for this is the nature of things, that the prosperity of one must always be at the expense of another. This is the balance of the world, and it belongs to he who carries the sword.”
Then she snapped her head forward, and impacted with Leon’s helm. Headbutting a steel helmet with your bare, already wounded head is generally not a good idea. But she was braced, and he was not. The maneuver would have opened her throat, but Leon had held back his knife for his soul rebuked him to harm a woman. Needless to say this principle, while generally noble, was extremely foolish in this instance. Chivalry was certainly not on Tamur’s mind as she pushed him back, and kicked him in the balls.
Leon was wearing armor and greaves, but about his waist was more of a plated skirt than a codpiece. The introduction of a bronze boot to that region inflicted less damage than it might, but this was in the sense that his family line could continue, rather than full nullification. He staggered further back, agility shattered. Tamur lashed out with her falx, and Leon wisely rolled away.
Leonidas began pushing himself back to his feet, but a Scythian archer circled. Whether by skill or by luck, they let fly their arrow and it struck true into the gash their queen had torn in the prince’s armor. Leon gasped briefly in pain as the arrow hit under his shoulder plate and pierced the meat of his back. It went through to the rib, and cracked it. He felt his blood already burning as the poisoned arrow delivered its deadly payload into his veins. The meat of muscle across his back began to scream and spasm, dropping him back to the earth. He saw Tamur approaching, and grit his teeth to rise through the pain. He was too slow, the falx came up…
Then there was a rush of wind, a smell of sulfur, and the sound of bronze ringing against talon, then scraping against scale. Seramis had intervened. She swooped in, and her talon met the falling flax. The two mighty women’s blades rang against one another, then Tamur shifted the blade. She cut across the dragoness’s palm and wounded her, drawing blood as the enchanted weapon carved scale. Seramis retaliated by coiling her tail, then striking forth with it like a whip. The foot and a half long blade at the end of the tail met the barbarian queen’s guard, and drove her back. The blade of the falx shook and sang like a tuning fork.
Seramis lowered her head, and spoke with a voice tinged with fire. She spoke in the Scythian’s own language, a growl deep in her throat and fire on her tongue. “Have you not heard, queen of the Scythians, that one should not trifle with a dragon’s hoard? If not, then I will educate you. Come not between a daughter of Tiamat and her treasure. This is folly, and will be your ruin should you persist.”
Tamur heard the words of the dragoness, and looked once to the blood on her sword, and once to the flames in the maw before her. She saw the damage the hellenes had wrought on her vanguard, and the advance of their phalanx. She stepped back, and ordered a retreat. Scythian and Diluvian locked eyes as the queen boarded a new chariot, and swiftly they retreated from the battlefield.
Sera breathed a sigh of relief, and quickly turned to her prince. Leon had kept trying to get up, and managed to stagger to his feet. Gently, she took him in an unwounded claw, and bore him away. “Leon, please tell me you can hear me.”
“I can. Ow.” Leon replied, breathing slowly, and deeply, to keep his face and voice from twisting in pain. “What did you say to her?”
“Just a bit of theater to make her leave, don’t worry about it. You focus on not dying, oh chivalrous fool mine.”
“Hah. Tease me when I’m not dying, would you kindly? It hurts too much to laugh.”
“Maybe next time, don’t be such an idiot then.”
“Ah, but then how would you have an excuse to rescue me?”
“Please, we both know I don’t need an excuse to steal you away. I’ve done it before.” Sera teased, and Leon smiled through the pain.
Even as two of the trio of royals retreated, Cassandra remained. She saw the Scythians trying to quit the field, and that the ambush had not been successful enough. They had mauled the Scythian mobile element, but not utterly broken it. She sent an order for caution, for if they overpursued the wily Scythian general, she might turn and crush them in turn. Still, she would not allow her enemy to escape her wrath so easily. She cast again, and thunder boomed across the clear morning.
“Avataar”
“Poorvaj”
“Rosh”
The mists of early morning fled from the Hellenes, and ran down the Scythians. The retreating barbarians turned, and saw the mists gather together into a humanoid figure. Long curls of smoke came down from a scowling face, almost akin to hair. Winds howled like limbs to throw men from horse and chariot. Tamur quickly evaded as the growing titan of mist swung, clear blue eyes gleaming amongst the artificial cloud. Then the avatar drew back its hand, and lighting crackled into being. The heir of Olympus and last daughter of Zeus hurled down lighting bolts at the Scythians, reminding all why even with the thrones of Olympus long empty and ashen, they were still remembered in myth and legend.
Bolts of lightning mauled man and horse alike. Chariots fell away twisted and burning. Thunder terrified men and horses. Cassandra watched from the eyes of her avatar as she delivered the wrath of an angry god upon then. “I am the dread Queen of Macedon. I am the miracle of destruction. I am mankind’s answer to dragons, and you dare, YOU DARE! Come to my home, my kingdom, and hurt my people, and now you think you can simply run away?” The whisper grew to a roaring fury, bolts of lightning leaping from her eyes to slay yet more.
Then Tamur cried a loud challenge, and bid her driver turn the chariot. She charged at the avatar of mist and storm, raising her blade high. In rage, Cassandra cast down another bolt of lightning, but Tamur raised up her sword. The bolt caught the bronze blade, but did not rip down through into the queen. Instead, she turned and set herself, then cut the air. Lighting ripped back into the avatar, and cut it from crown to groin. There was a clap of thunder, and the avatar was banished.
Cassandra went flying back, caught by her men, but left dazed. A wound, thankfully shallow, had sprung from no apparent source, from her crown down the center of her body, even under her armor. She staggered upright, hands shaking violently. She reached for magic, but it was like a man who was concussed. It was there, but unstable, difficult to control, unreliable. The clean, efficient control she prided herself on eluded her. She drew in a breath, and clenched her fists to stop her shaking hand. Showing no pain from her wound, she watched as the scythians slipped out of her grasp.
“Where in the world did she get a sword that can cut the soul?” Cassandra wondered aloud. Then, heeding the insistence of her men, she retreated, and ordered the army to retire from the field. She growled as she made her way back towards the medical tents. “I hate dealing with other miracles.”

/uw Part two! This is also set 20 years ago. Here's part one.
CW: mutilation, gore. Sorry.
/rw
The next page flips on its own; the text is even more degraded than before. The letters continuously wobble and shift, but the meaning is all the same.
...
First things first, I flipped the sign to 'Closed'. As I was about to walk back to my desk to file away the returns, I noticed a haphazard pile of books in the 'M' section.
It wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Someone bumps a shelf, the books fall, then they don't have the courtesy to pick them back up. Some people... I got about halfway through sorting the pile when I heard the front door ring again.
Come on, couldn't they read? "Excuse me! The library is now closed!"
Dead silence, aside from an odd scraping sound.
I tried again. "You'll have to come back tomorrow! Sorry!"
...No response.
I stood up from the pile and walked toward the front. "I'm going to have to ask you to—"
I stopped dead in my tracks. I only caught a glimpse of it through the aisle, but that was all it took to send me into a panic. It was unlike anything I'd ever seen. A color so strange, it was like it didn't exist before today; and maybe... it didn't exist at all. The entity didn't 'fit' in the room, but to say it had a 'size' would be inaccurate. It was an outsider to our reality in its entirety, like trying to fit a square peg in a round hole.
I ducked down out of sheer instinct. What the hell was that?! My heart pounded in my chest as I struggled to steady my breathing. That scraping was sound getting closer... and... closer. I had to move.
I ran down the aisle in an awkward sprint-crawl, trying to stay out of view of that thing. I struggled to push away the feeling of crushing dread, for I knew, with that one glimpse, that running was futile.
When I reached the end of the aisle, I breathed a sigh of relief, before realizing that it was right in front of me. I fell backward, scrambling to make it to my feet.
It spoke— no, it commanded, "Ḋ̶̼i̴̟̐s̴͍͝c̴͝ͅȇ̷̟ś̸̜ ̴̥̐v̸͆͜ȅ̸̟ŕ̷ͅĩ̷̹t̴̳̓a̴̭͑t̶̟͠e̶͜͠m̷͈̐ ̴̯̂ḩ̵̈u̶͉̕ḯ̶̙ủ̷͇s̴̝͊ ̷͆͜m̶̞̂u̸͙̿n̷͚̉d̴̈ͅȋ̶̳.̷̬͠"
I tried to run, but my legs were frozen. I tried to scream, but my voice got caught in my throat. I tried to shut my eyes, but I couldn't look away. I tried to pray, but no god was listening.
"̸͍͊N̶̖͂u̸͕͝m̷̄ͅq̴͉̓u̸̟̒ă̷̯m̶̂ͅ ̵͕͊p̵͕̐a̶̳̍c̵͉̎ḙ̵̽m̶̥̓ ̸͚̉i̷̞͝n̶̲͐v̷̗͑e̴̙̍ṇ̸̓ȋ̴̬ḙ̸̽s̵̟̐,̴̲̈ ̷̮̐p̸̐ͅu̴͚͋e̶̠͌r̸̙̎ ̸̠̇m̸̥̈́e̵̢̚ụ̴͌ś̴̞,̸̦͋" it uttered, holding a scythe above its head.
It didn't have a mouth to talk, ears to listen, or eyes to see, and yet, I heard it. But I couldn't understand it. I couldn't possibly understand it.
"̵̙̋P̵̜̐a̷̠̍t̵̖̐ì̴̗ē̸̩̏r̷͓̂i̵̬̾s̵̯͝.̵̯̂" It brought down the scythe at a snail's pace, the sharp point glistening in the amber light of the setting sun. It forced me to watch as the blade approached my face.
After what felt like an eternity, the tip of the scythe connected with my right eye, and I felt a pain unlike I'd ever felt before.
In that moment, a kaleidoscope of colors erupted from the center of my vision, going from a rainbow, to red, to an all-consuming darkness. I felt something warm streak down my face as the rest of my body grew numb.
The seconds felt like hours as it gouged the scythe further and further into my eye. I should have passed out by then, but it wouldn't let me. Finally, I reached a moment of respite as the blade quietly clicked against the back of my eye-socket.
That sense of relief was quickly torn away as I heard a stomach-churning crunch, the pain increasing tenfold. I could feel my heart slowing down as my body grew cold.
Millions of thoughts swirled around my head—millions of questions that would remain eternally unanswered as they were forcibly ripped from my mind.
As suddenly as it appeared, it vanished without a trace. I watched as the darkness crawled toward the center of my vision, and the floor grew closer... and closer... and closer... until the world slipped away.
...
A newspaper clipping [Mierbrook Post] is stapled to the page. The moment it's read, a Glyph of Warding triggers, automatically casting Power Word: Pain.
"Ithael Ralich, 26-year-old librarian, awoke from his coma last Friday, leaving the local community in shock. When contacted for an interview, he declined, stating, 'There's no point in discussing the past.' Officials have opened an investigation into potential foul play, desperate to uncover the truth of this disturbing incident.
Authorities rem—"

First/Previous
Satan was on the air, on the night, within everything in the long shadows cast by the setting sun and with him came a chill to the air that I could never hope to internalize; it might kill me.
From a rotted abode across the street, I watched the large outbuilding and the field in which we’d buried the hand and I found myself in prayer—among the torn and exposed studs of dry-rotted wood and rusted metal I caught my own whispers and forced myself to stop like I intended to convene with God right there in the dark; I wasn’t there for Allah. It was something else that compelled me there. I whispered the prayer and felt foolish at my own voice and ducked lowly among the rubble and held my breath to watch the sunlight go from the land and in a blink, the light was gone, and I was there in darkness that at first was a terror and then I slipped into it through blinks and the surroundings became clearer even in the dark.
Time went on.
I was exposed, but the yougins were safe—Trouble too. If nothing else mattered in the world, then they should go on without me. It had come to me so suddenly (maybe it was the prayer that withdrew such a sentimentality) that I liked them okay.
Before anything else, a cat’s hiss came so faintly that I plugged my ear with my pinky, shook it and listened again; the noise grew closer, and I could do nothing but watch the field and squint in the darkness and wait.
Fumbling, I counted the glass containers with touch only—two in my jacket pocket and the third by my feet—and my fingers then danced to the threadbare strap of the shotgun on my shoulder; I shed my pack for mobility.
The domineering creature lurched forcefully from the shadows and then went on display in the moonlight properly and its arched back protruded even over its own head till it lifted that muzzle, so its rattish face was cut out in a black outline; it was sniffing, and the hiss came through the air again. The Alukah kept a serpentine strut, smoothly gliding across the ground as it used its hands like forelegs to press its snout against the ground. In watching, I consciously relaxed my shoulders and refrained from biting my teeth together. That creature found the spot it had been searching for—it seemed roughly the place we’d buried the hand—and it took its claws there with bestial shovelfuls.
In a hurry, I gathered the jar I’d placed by my feet—it would not slide so gracefully into my jacket as the others—and as quietly as I could, I slinked around the rubble, through two studs, and onto the dirt. Within milliseconds, my own heartbeat pounded all over my body and I stood in the street and lit the Molotov cocktail with a lighter and took closer to the creature.
It shifted around and in that moment I wished I had a light source powerful enough to expose its body; I tossed the cocktail in a high arch and it exploded in a moment by the creature’s feet as it stood and pivoted to look at me fully; its solid white eyes were wide in a glance of moon-shine and it slung itself from the eruption of flames around its feet with violent speed. Its black hair hung down the sides of its face and its head parted midway to expose a snarl. It stalked in a circle around the concentration of flames, remaining mostly in the dark; the thing moved slowly nearer, those long arms swaying in front of itself with each step.
You should know better. It stopped midstride, coming no closer and we each stood there in the field roughly thirty feet from one another, and I refused to take my eyes from it. The boy’s mine. The flames began to flicker and die. For how long we stood like that, I couldn’t say, and I waited.
I couldn’t find a voice till it was all dark again, besides the moon and stars. “Why can’t you leave us be? There’s easier pickins.”
You offer yourself too much credit, Harlan. We remained in silence and in the darkness the creature may have been a statue—in a blink it seemed as much. You are a corpse, no? A walking corpse of a man! A terrible sickness is in you. I know it. I see it on you as plainly as I see your fear.
Rigidity took over my body and I puffed my chest out like it meant something and I shook my head, “I’m not afraid.”
Not of me, no. Of yourself? Something. The voice lingered with the ends of its words, drawing them out first guttural then it left them on hisses. Something I know.
I lit the next Molotov, and the creature didn’t move; I threw the bottle furiously and it went into the darkness like a far candleflame till it erupted in the spot the Alukah had been standing—the thing had leapt from there, leaving me unawares and I lowered myself to the ground in a crouch, swiveling my head around to catch the thing in the dark. The flames on the ground danced brightly, leaving me light-blinded.
Not again, said the thing, You will not catch me so easily with fire again. It was behind me, nearer the outbuilding and it took a moment through blinks for my eyesight to return well enough to see the grotesqueness of the misshapen massive humanoid thing.
The Molotov explosion burned then disappeared and we stood looking at one another again and I felt silly, foolish, radically unprepared, and overwhelmingly trivial in the grand scheme of the universe—if it wanted to, it could leap the distance between us and rip me to shreds. Why didn’t it kill me? Why wasn’t I dead?
That damnable night creature extended one of its massive forehands, flexing the digits on the end of its arm and whispered its words like a plea, The boy, Harlan. That is all. Take that brimstone smelly girl and carry that shell of a body—walk on to whatever hole you humans call home.
Hoping to not draw a movement from the creature, I pressed my forearm against my ribcage, feeling the last Molotov that was there in the inner pocket and I gently slid the strap from my shoulder, and held my shotgun in both hands, licking my dry lips, watching the dark frame of the Alukah, fearing even a moment of distraction; my eyes locked on the creature and I refused to speak.
No deal then. It wasn’t a question; its rattish snout offered a mild nod of understanding. You despise a good sense of words.
I readied the shotgun, legs spaced in proper formation—looking down the barrel, I held my breath and upon squeezing the trigger, the thing knocked into my shoulder, but the creature was gone. In scanning, I found the thing had moved from the field and bounded wildly across the street towards the dead ruins of Annapolis, its muscular limbs made short work of fleeing.
The outbuilding remained quiet and erectly tall, and I moved to its shadow and cussed whispers for wasting ammunition. Only three shells remained; worse, I’d wasted two of my explosives. I watched the horizon in the opposite direction of the crowded foundations of Annapolis and carefully held my breath in watching and I prayed again, hoping that the commotion would not draw attention.
An overwhelming sense of foolishness welled in my guts, and I trotted off towards the direction I’d watched the Alukah go, through the ramshackle streets haphazardly.
The darkness was maddeningly empty, so I filled it with shouts, “C’mon! This is your turf, ain’t it? This darkness is yours so come and take me if you can!” Rusty as I was, I held the shotgun like never before, squinting my eyes, keeping my pace in unison with my heartbeat. There’s a place in that darkness that is beyond reproach, beyond the comprehension of a city dweller, beyond even my own understanding and I found myself padding through those streets at an accelerated rate, hopeful to confront the demon and I only found more dead and vacant lots and I crossed more than two intersections where the signs were either gone or indecipherable in the black shadows cast there. I wished for a payback of the demon’s hunt or perhaps I wished for something even more than that—what did I need to prove and to who? “You sick and twisted and foul beast!” I went so loud I continued to hoarseness, “Slimy fuck!” I’s so mad that spit came with the words too.
Still, there was nothing and I came to a final crossroads, a place more commercial—at least for a flatland dead town—where brick storefronts half-stood on those four corners. Finding my voice again, I continued my tirade, cursing the demon, “Come get some—c’mon already! Here’s your fight?” I was scared though.
A sudden noise from the dilapidated storefront to my left startled me to pivot and watch, gun pulled up, and I focused as hard as I could on the recesses of that shadowed place; it was a large antiquated face where a window might have sat many years prior. Wet and hungry sounds emanated from that place, the disgusting noises of a fiend—even in knowing it, I was surprised in seeing the new creature spill out in a lumpish mess of slickened muscles, lubricated, its innumerable arms and legs clawed its own body forward so that it rolled like a mushy ball—each of those limbs remained human in nature. Upon the thing pulling itself onto the street, I staggered backwards, gun still raised, and watched its form take a modicum of understanding in the moonlight; its mouths—sporadically, illogically placed over its mass of a body—opened and seemed to try and speak with each one merely letting go of meekly audible, painful sighs in doing so. The eyes, spaced much the same as the mouths, blinked and rolled as if it was torture for the thing to live. The mutant was a tongue-like mass at its center, and it was almost the size of a horse—I’d seen fiends grow much larger, but this was still a great threat.
In moving away from where it spilled onto the street, I stumbled backwards and caught myself on the backfoot and clumsily spun into a sprint; my boots pounded in my flight from the thing, and it chased after.
Its mouths exhausted terrible sighs as it gained speed in the relative openness of the street and in seconds, I would not have been surprised if the thing snatched me by an ankle and devoured me without thought—not that fiends had any other thoughts above the basest urge to consume.
The pursuit kept me going in the dark, watching the still shadows of the dilapidated housing and I pushed on until I tasted copper; my breathing went raspy—it’d been so long since I’d been forced to run from such a creature in the open. I took a glance back and saw it coming, gaining speed in its perpetual roll; its body excreted some fluid across itself so that it could glide more easily.
Coming to a crossroads I’d passed earlier, or perhaps it was a new one—I couldn’t fathom in the dark—I took in the direction of what I thought was south and ran full throttle; my knees ached.
In hoping to confuse the mutant, I quickly dove towards the right side of the southbound street, towards some ramshackle, through the skeletal framing of a skinless house without a roof; I pushed through the pencil-narrow vertical beams and stumbled through, landing onto the unseen ground on the other side. My left leg spasmed and in the millisecond that it took for my nerves to register the pain, I let out a mild, “Oh.” I tried to lift myself from the spot and found that my left leg refused to bend straight; in total horror—more so from my body failing than the mutant—I swiveled my torso around and scooted on my rear across the ground, raking myself in the opposite direction of the fiend.
The mutant slammed into the frame; its many arms reached through the bars and in a moment, it began to use its hands to lift itself along the exposed wall and I scooted further away till my back met the bars of where an opposite wall would’ve gone. In a scramble, I snatched the shotgun, pushed myself sniff against the bars on my side and watched the thing down the barrel; I waited and concentrated on my own breathing. If nothing else worked, I still had that Molotov—if not for it then for me.
As it crested the top of the wall made of bars, I watched patiently and only when I was certain I fired.
The mutant, the great meatball-thing that it was, lost its grasp for a moment and slipped onto the arrangement of vertical bars; I gush of liquid, illuminated in starlight, shot from its base of its soft body; it began to try and catch its grasp on the bars and I took a moment for myself to examine my left knee—I pulled it as close to my face as I could manage which was hardly at all—some black triangular mass had lodged itself into my flesh; more accurately, I’d slammed myself onto something sharp in my panic to flee the fiend. In a second, not thinking of the repercussions, I gripped the thing with my left hand and clamped my mouth onto my right hand, biting into fat of my hand by the thumb. The debris was free from my leg, and I let it to fall to the ground; blood ran freely into my mouth and I let go of the bite and tentatively lifted the gun again, ignoring the pain; the creature continued to struggle, and I fired again. It slipped again, further impaling itself on the bars.
I had one shell left.
Using the place I’d propped my back, I pushed free from the ground and put all my weight onto my right leg, testing the left; I staggered—hopped really—around in the small square of ground surrounded by metal framing and searched the ground for something long. I unearthed the dirt around my feet and found a long piece of metal rod; setting the gun to the side, I lifted the metal rod over my head and then slowly arched it out from my body. It would give me just enough room to further injure the thing while also staying well out of its grasp.
I swung the makeshift weapon down like a bat or a sword and the fiend slid a little further down the bars, the exit wounds began to show across the top of its roundish body, and I smacked it again—its mouths spoke words that could nearly be understood. Though it took only moments, I was thoroughly exhausted by the time the creature had reached the ground again, good and dead and impaled upon six of those vertical bars. I tossed the weapon to the ground, lifted my gun, and shimmied through the bars on the opposite side of the square.
Adrenaline only lasts so long, and my left leg throbbed to the point of nausea; I did not want to inspect the wound, but on rounding the ramshackle and watching the still dead thing, I stumbled into the street and knelt and lifted my pant leg. It was dark and bloody and already it was burning. Infection was my first thought. A puncture wound could spell a terrible fate. I shifted to sit in the street. My leg didn’t bend right.
The cat’s hiss came from the darkness and there wasn’t a way I could respond in time; I felt those long nasty fingers grab me by the back of my neck and I was lifted immediately from the ground—the gun clattered to the ground and all I could do was initially freeze and stiffen and then my hands moved to the grasp which held me firmly by the throat; those massive knuckles were like stones.
The Alukah had me and situated me so that it could look into my face, its long black hair hid its eyes but I could smell its breath and see its teeth which rested in its round mouth. I could snap you. It seemed to nod its head, but to detect humanity in that damnable pale face was a mistake.
I choked.
What’s that? It relaxed its grasp on my throat.
“Do it.”
Why’re you crying? Its foot brushed against the gun at its feet, and it lifted it with its free hand, and it commented casually, Little human toy.
It moved, holding me by the throat, dragging me along the ground in an abnormal sluggish gait. It was hard to see anything but the night sky, anything but the strange angle of the demon—with its grip, it was hard to breathe, and tears indeed welled in my eyes, and I held to its forearm to distribute some of the weight of my own body away from my neck. With its tugging, I could not speak, but it spoke.
I’ll squeeze you dry, but your blood’s too tainted to drink. That won’t make it any less interesting. I’ll twist you like a rag and see which hole it comes from first. More than that, you’ll scream. You’ll scream so loud everyone will know. Everyone will know what I’ve done to you—once you’re no more than ruin. Not even Mephisto would balk at my handiwork once I’ve had my time with you. God will look on your sour corpse with so much disgust there won’t be a place for you anywhere. Only Oblivion, a place worse than any.
The creature moved us to the open field, tilted its head back and forth, rose its rattish face to the sky and snorted and then clearly sniffed, dropping the gun to its feet to brush the long black hair from its eyes; its muscular body shone in the moonlight so that even its bluish veins stood plainly from its white skin. It shifted its gaze to the outbuilding—maybe fifty yards away—where the youngins were hidden.
Deftly, the thing lifted me from where it had kept me by its side and my feet levitated over the air, I felt feet taller, suspended from that long arm the way I was. It took its free hand to my midsection and I felt the digits of its hand squeeze my ribs and it let go of my throat and I coughed and wheezed, placing my hands on its fingers to dig into that thing’s skin—it didn’t matter—in seconds, a scream escaped my rattling throat; it squeezed more and I felt the glass bottle in my jacket burst from the force then the Alukah gave relief and I tried to gulp air, but felt pangs along my body. My jacket was wetted from blood by the broken bottle shards entering my body or from the contents of the bottle or both.
Urine? It pulled me close to itself, sniffed, and shook its head. Oil? it cackled, Again! Beg for the help you do not deserve! It held me outright once more.
Again, the great hand constricted me and again I could not help but to let out a scream—my lungs were on fire, my voice stretched like a dying animal. I heard barks and saw nothing through wild choking tears. The grip softened.
I coughed more and tried to speak; the Alukah brought me close to itself as if to wait and listen to what I had to say. Weeping words fell out in a whisper, “Kill me. Do it. I don’t mind.”
Another sharp laugh exited the thing’s throat and it squeezed again, facing me out so that I could look at the black outline of the outbuilding. I heard the barking again and I saw the figures stumble out from the sidelong face of the outbuilding. I blinked to remove the tears.
A voice, neither mine nor the demon’s, shouted an attempt at authority, “Let him go!” It was Gemma. They rounded the building so that moonlight removed them from obscurity. Gemma held Trouble on a lead while Andrew followed.
Trouble growled.
The smile was audible through the Alukah’s voice, Strong words for one so dainty. I felt its grip tighten and I chuffed and couldn’t manage a word.
“Get it!” shouted Gemma; she let go of Trouble’s lead and the dog looked curiously at me and the demon where we were and tucked its tail and circled to hide behind the children.
The Alukah laughed. Scary dog.
I was lightheaded while my vision went; I should die—I’d bleed out there or some unknown medical oddity would shut me off. Perhaps I’d will myself to death. My head nodded tiredly, and I fought it, blinking, shaking my head to maintain my eyes.
“You want me?” The boy took a few steps forward and his voice cracked. “We could make a deal.”
The Alukah lowered me so that my feet skimmed the ground but shifted to keep a tight hold around only my throat. Oh?
“What are you doing?” shouted Gemma; she closed the space between herself and Andrew and shoved him.
He shoved her back. “Me for him,” he addressed the demon.
Is that the deal?
Everything in my body protested while I reached for the jean pocket on my right side; I could not reach it. I stretched and my ribs screamed in pain—it was worse than bruising. The demon did not notice me moving. Maybe because my movements were weak, subtle. I tried again while mentally asking God for help and I came short of the pocket. I cursed Him and then my shaking fingers found the pocket. I withdrew the lighter there.
“That’s right,” said Andrew.
“No, he won’t,” Gemma’s voice was aflame.
It’s not your deal to make, girly.
I took the lighter to my jacket, lit it, and the flames grew around me in a flash, feeding on the oil.
The Alukah hissed, attempted to unwrap its hand from around me while I dug into its forearm with two claws and bit onto the thing’s hand for extra purchase. It swung me around and my legs flew limply. It took every bit of strength I had.
Let go! The Alukah shrieked.
Trouble barked, the children screamed, and I bit deeper till that thick black blood filled my mouth. The flames were immaculate, cleansing, more furious than I could’ve imagined. Not for life—that’s not why I held on so strongly—it was for them, for Andrew and Gemma. Me and that creature should’ve burned together. Fitting.
Delirium took over and I swiveled overhead in the demon’s tantrum, holding onto that arm. The Alukah hissed, roared, shouted nasty epithets.
The gunshot rang out and I met ground, hard.
Exhaustion or death could’ve taken me then, but it was the former.
When consciousness came again, it was hands, smacking hands that brought me to life—then the vague smell of burnt hair, cooked flesh. My body stung and I could not move but to lift my face from the dirt where I lay belly-flat.
“You almost died,” said Gemma somewhere between hope and sorrow, “You almost killed yourself!” She shook me and shoved me hard enough so that I rolled on my back. She’d been crying, but surely, we’d won. What was there to cry for? If we’d lost, she wouldn’t be talking at all.
She left me and I stared at the sky through slits. The sun was coming but I couldn’t feel the warmth; I couldn’t feel anything (that would be a sweet memory in the time to come). It was quiet save the crackling I heard; it was like the lowness of a dying fire. It wasn’t me? I wasn’t on fire?
When she returned, she lifted my head to place my pack underneath it; it elevated my vision. I surveyed my surroundings. The outbuilding was there and the Alukah lay on the ground perhaps ten feet from me; its body charred and sizzled and caught little flames in response to the cresting sunrise; everything was a daze—we’d won.
Gemma’s eyes glittered, and she called the dog over and the dog sniffed my face and the girl’s lips remained flat, expressionless.
I saw the boy’s body—it lay motionless alongside the dead Alukah and alongside that body was my shotgun. The body’s head sat on its side, disconnected from its owner, facing away from where I lay.
“He killed it. He shot it.” Gemma sat beside me, and Trouble placed her snout on the girl’s shoulder. “We’re going to die,” she nodded.
First/Previous
Archive

Last night my university appeared on the news.
As I watched the broadcast, listening to my old television set sputter and cough like a used car engine, I swore the temperature plummeted several degrees. The newscaster was still droning on in the background but it could’ve just been static. Meaningless.
It is always the same with this news broadcast. Burned and charred stone and concrete lying around in a pentagon in a way that could make any abstract artist proud. I try, whenever it comes up, to ignore everything scrolling on the screen. Or at the very least, skim through the programme. The less details I remember, the better.
But every time, my eyes are drawn to one tiny thing on the screen. It stands out screaming, a splash of red in an ocean of black. I can’t forget it no matter how hard I try, and it slips into my nightmares and I wake up screaming.
A rune of a blood-stained sword, inked in red and carved neatly in the stone.
“This is our pride and joy,” he nodded, gesturing to a rune of a blood-stained sword. His sunflower name badge read James and he was cute. Tousled hair, playful freckles–the works.
I swear girls swooned when they saw him.
The year was 2004 and I wished fighting over James was the least of our problems. Even now, during orientation week, a great hush fell over our little tour group. Everyone shifted their feet nervously and tied their fingers into knots.
James laughed.
“The stories about Helena Sword? That’s just it. Stories.”
“All the stuff you heard about her before you came here, they’re simply not true. Just something stupid to scare the freshies, that’s all.”
He trailed off in the middle of his speech, staring off into the distance.
“It’s been a thousand years after all…”
He laughed again, but it was as empty as the wind blowing down the halls. He cracked a smile, but his face was pale like the rest of us.
“Anyway,” he said, “the library is just down this hallway too. When our founder, Sir Gallus, founded this place, he sought out books from all over the world…”
As the rest of the tour moved on, I couldn’t help but stay behind. I was no archeologist, but there was something about this rune that would not let me go. I stroked the rune, fascinated by how my fingers crossed tall ridges and tiny valleys. It was very simply carved, almost like a child’s drawing of a sword brought to life, but as I turned to catch up with everyone else, I realised I wasn’t alone.
She was pretty, a girl around my height and build, with striking red curls and a rather long neck, almost like a giraffe. A tattoo poked out behind long blue sleeves, dressed in red ink. The girl turned to me and grinned sheepishly.
“Are you lost?”
I frowned. “Sorry?”
“The tour group moved on without you,” she stated, pointing ahead. Indeed I could hear James’ voice in the distance, rambling on about the portraits in the halls. I looked back at her and she nodded grimly.
“My name is Ginny,” she said, extending her hand. I shook it. It was as cold as ice. In fact, when I looked at her, it was like gazing at an ice sculpture, with frosty eyes and dainty lips.
“It’s my first day here too. Except well…my parents brought me here yesterday. So I know this school inside out. Do you want me to show you around? You don’t need that tour group. Especially since they well…abandoned you.”
My head was suddenly foggy. “Yes, please,” I mumbled.
In spite of her offer, Ginny didn’t say much as we walked through the campus. Didn’t point out anything interesting landmarks or anything like that; didn’t talk much about herself either. Instead we wandered through the grounds, enjoying each other’s company. It was the beginning of autumn, and golden leaves were falling down and the trees looked like they were on fire. Overhead we could hear migrating birds singing. It was lovely.
Eventually we reached my dorm.
And hers.
Ginny was my roommate. I found it strange, since I didn’t recall having a roommate or asking for one; and even if I did, wouldn’t I be informed of it months ago? Someone that I would share my life with for the next three years? But then she looked at me and smiled and all my questions flew out of my head. I mumbled a yes to her offer of assistance and we spent the rest of the afternoon making our dorm look like home.
Then we went down for dinner and were joined in the mess hall by two other girls, Ivy and Cleo, who told us their room would be next door to us. We sat down with our mashed potatoes and roast chicken and they immediately drummed up conversation, talking about their lives before they came to university, what they hoped to achieve during their time here, and everything in between.
“So what are you guys studying?” Ivy asked.
“Psychology,” I said. Helping people has always been a lifelong dream.
“Computer Science,” Ivy and Cleo said at the same time.
We all looked at Ginny. She stared back, completely taken aback by the question.
“Um,” she said, “Computer Science too, I suppose. That’s getting popular, right?”
“Yup,” Ivy mumbled, her head bowed over her mashed potatoes like a broken flower. “Everyone is fighting to get their slice of the Internet these days…”
We continued our meal in silence, the conversation suddenly over. We walked up together, too, and it felt strangely uncomfortable. A dark cloth had fallen over our little group, leaving behind an itch we could never scratch.
Finally we reached our dorms and we looked at each other.
“Well, good night then,” Ivy said. Cleo was already inside and I could hear her brushing her teeth.
“See you at breakfast.”
“Good night,” I said. Ivy nodded and closed the door.
Ginny was already in her bunk, her nose in a book. There was already a stack next to her, as tall as a mountain, and by the glare in her eyes, passionate and intense as fire, it looked like she was going to be reading all night.
“Don't classes start next week?” I asked with a frown.
“Yeah,” Ginny said distractedly. Her eyes were glued to the pages and she was flipping through them so fast her hands were a blur. “Just wanted to get started so I’ll be well-prepared, that’s all.”
She peered down at me, her icy blue eyes fixated on my muddy brown ones. “Go to bed. We have a big day tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I mumbled, and soon I slipped away from the real world for a world of restless dreams.
For some reason, I woke up in the middle of the night.
I got my torch from under the bed and checked the time on my alarm clock. 4am.
Great.
I lay down on my pillow with my eyes open. I strained my ears, listening out for the sounds of nature. Back home there were birds that sang no matter what time it was, porcupines and rats scavenging around our trash, and crickets that performed symphonies that lulled me into slumber.
But out here there was nothing.
Great.
I couldn’t even hear my roomie. I didn’t really peg Ginny as the type who snored, but her bunk felt…empty. I peered upwards and couldn’t make out her shapeless form huddled beneath her blankets. Books were strewn all over her bunk, their pages wide open like the wings of lost paper birds.
I yawned and squeezed my eyes shut. It was too early to do anything and as Ginny said, we had a lot of things to do tomorrow.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehh!!
It sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Or rather, that of a clawed hand scraping down someone’s flesh, their hooked nails peeling off their skin in strips.
I groaned and smashed my pillow against my ears, but even my fluffy shield did nothing to muffle the loud screeches that rattled from my ears down my spine and to my toes.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehh!!
I couldn’t ignore it any longer. I wobbled out of bed, clutching the bed frame as the world spun in front of my eyes. I breathed deep as another eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehhh screamed in my eardrums, making my hair stand on end.
Then I heard someone scream.
Was that Ginny? An image tore through my mind of my roommate in the corner, slowly strangled by rusty iron chains that curled around her body like venomous snakes. I know I shouldn’t open the door–it is a critical mistake made by so many horror movie heroines–but the thought of Ginny, alone, made my heart shiver.
So I yanked open the door.
There was Ginny, frozen like a popsicle stick. The shadows gathered and morphed into a hooded figure that blanketed her bodice.
Something—someone—slithered towards her, dragging behind a long blade. Eeeeeeeeeeeh
Ginny opened her mouth. Was she screaming?
But no, the silhouette brushed up against her skin and whooshed right past her, disappearing into the dorms. Ginny looked over, saw me screaming, then ran over and knocked me back in the room, locking the door shut.
“Are you okay?” she asked urgently.
I nodded a yes. Everything I felt at that moment couldn’t be put into words. It was dammed somewhere in the back of my throat, fighting to get out.
But I just couldn’t.
“What did you see?”
Nothing. Just nothing. My mind was blank. Everything was a hazy mess zooming around through my neural pathways. I sat down and rubbed my head. The room was spinning out of focus.
I needed to sleep.
“Yeah, sleep tight,” Ginny said kindly, pushing my blanket up to my neck. I curled up like a cooked prawn and breathed in deep. It smelled like home.
“Good night, Ginny,” I mumbled.
“Good night.”
We woke up to a sea of noisy chatter. It sounded like a thousand parrots squawking at the same time.
Eyes closed, mine still hazy, I stretched—and immediately bumped my head against the wooden frame.
Ow.
People were talking—no, shouting. It rang in my ears like a bloodcurdling scream. I groaned and attempted to muffle it with my pillow above my ears. Why do people have to be so goddamn loud?
Finally I gave up and sat up straight, forcing my crusty eyes open. Ginny was already gone, and her nightgown was draped across the top bunk like a country flag. The door was creaking in the wind. It slammed against the wall and came back strong.
Ow
Ginny came back. Without a word she took me by the arm and dragged me out of the room. There was a crowd mulling outside Ivy and Cleo’s dorm and as we passed I could hear snippets of their conversation:
“Dead…”
Ginny marched past them and took me down the stairs and to the mess hall, her eyes staring straight ahead like the world had vanished around her. Then she sat me down on one of the benches, took a sip of water and stared at me, her face white and shaking.
“WHAT?”
Even in the foggy haze of sleep, the bizarreness of the morning and the crowds outside the dorms were getting to me. All I had was questions, and I hated having so many questions.
For the first time since I met her, Ginny’s eyes didn’t meet mine. “So uh, you know the guy leading you around yesterday? When we first met?”
The description scratched my memory, and then I remembered. Tall and lanky, with tousled brown hair, freckles and a charming smile. He had a sunflower lanyard pinned on a checkered shirt–and that badge contained a name.
“James?”
“He…”. Ginny took a deep breath.
“He is dead. They found his body this morning.”
Ginny was still talking but I was barely listening. I only met this boy yesterday but it felt like I knew him forever. I felt like I was being pulled under, my reality torn asunder, everything that I know just…shattering around me.
Dead?
My throat was dry. Closing up. I sounded like a strangled cat.
“Yes,” Ginny confirmed dryly.
I looked at the two empty seats opposite me and that momental wave of dizziness turned into nausea.
“Bathroom,” I said.
Ginny watched me go, unblinking.
I rushed to the first unlocked toilet I found, ignoring the glares of girls already in queue. I gagged and watched my dinner and what little of my breakfast I had eaten swirl down the bowl. Then I flushed and staggered out. Everything was lit up way too bright; the chattering of students heading to their classes was way too loud; and I sat down in the corridor and closed my eyes.
I wasn’t sure how long I was out, because the next thing I knew someone was shaking me awake and helping me on my feet
“Come on,” Ivy said.
Her voice was brittle, her face pale. She was as fragile as stained glass, and she could barely walk herself. We limped together, nearly tripping over each other as we went up the stairs, until we collapsed, tangled between each other in a rope of legs.
That was when I felt something sharp brush across my cheek, drawing blood.
I looked up to see a hooded figure standing above us, wearing black gloves and a cloak made out of human skin. Her eyes were glowing crimson as she raised the sword. Rust gleamed at its sides like dew.
The sword slammed down, nearly missing Ivy’s leg.
We looked at each other, barely breathing, barely a word said between us. Then as if on command we got up and hightailed it back to our dorms. Through the shadows as we ran I could see a girl my age watching.
Her red curls shone in the dark like fire.
Ivy slammed the door behind us and shoved chairs up the edge to boot. I wasn’t sure it could hold a sword slicing through a wooden door but it would have to do.
Ivy sat on the bed and closed her eyes, whispering prayers in her native language. I didn’t feel like talking either
Author's Notes
If I remember correctly, this one is about a student who haunts the university 300ish years after her death. She is a witch, immortal and summoned by touching ruins. Her main weapon is the titular sword and instead of wielding it herself she hypnotises other students to kill for her.
The next scene is Cleo framed for killing James, the first sinister look at her powers of hypnosis.
The ending reveals that Ginny (taken from Ginerva, a romanized version of Queen Guinevre, yes me and JK Rowling had the same line of thinking) and Helena Sword is the same person and hypnotising all the other students. She dies when the narrator burns the school to the ground accidentally while trying to get away, ending the curse and resulting in the ruins at the start of the flashback.